What I mean to say is that the thrill is gone. Long, long gone. I can’t recall the last time I looked forward to a weekend. In the interest of full disclosure, I probably just can’t remember back that far.
For sure, it was a really long time ago. But at least as far back as I can recall, weekends have been filled with doing important stuff I simply didn’t have time for during the week. Unless, of course, something actually important came up to wipe out my weekend and push all that crap into next week, which put me back behind the 8-ball again.
I am no longer excited by weekends. Or holidays, for that matter.
Which makes it all that much better when I do stumble into a weekend with little or nothing hanging over my head. Like this one, for example. I am not busy editing anything, working out another promotion, or arranging another ‘personal appearance” (I haven’t done more than two this entire year and don’t intend to arrange any for next year).So after breakfast I plopped down into my easy chair and began to think about plotting out my next Terry Rankin novel. That , at least, is something I should be doing (as opposed to playing another hand of Solitaire).
Unfortunately, I didn’t give my characters a heads-up about this; they all had plans for the weekend and refused to change them. Terry’s wife, Cathy, in fact got downright snippy about it when I mentioned it to her.
So I’m here, in front of my computer, wondering what will happen if I just forge ahead and plot something out all by myself. But Cathy’s parting shot – just before she hung up on me, went something like this, “You go right ahead and try that, Showalter. Just keep in mind that we all know where you live.”
Well, I do have a few books on my Kindle I haven’t read, yet. Maybe today would be a really good day to start another novel; as long as it’s by someone else. Maybe their characters like them better.