Scrambling the Jets

stockvault-ultra-high-flyover-at-dusk101694Newsflash! Writing is not the same as working an assembly line.

*pauses as the world moans a consensus “Duh!”*

Please, just keep your seats a minute more while I pile some relevance onto that statement. I promise this will be brief.

Surprising to everyone, I actually worked on an assembly line one summer years ago (back when the mind hadn’t learned to buck so violently at that concept.) 5am to 4pm every work day, I put in my time and was a darn good computer innards put-her-in-her.

The point is, no matter what was going on in the world I got my job done every darn day.

I liked it.

It was good.

Writing, however, is way different.

My father is having outpatient surgery today on something relatively minor. But even though I am not logically concerned about it, my subconscious is panicking and scrambling the F-16’s.

Bottom line: It’s hard to write Revolutionary War-era romance while your choking on jet fumes.

So, I’m writing off the meager 156 words completed yesterday as excusable. After all, writing is not an assembly line.


Pretend with me on this one. The guilt is strong with me this morning.

But most importantly please keep my dad in your thoughts and prayers today.

Thank you.

Until tomorrow…


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