The struggle for time, equipment, and location to work at writing continues. Seemingly endless rain has hindered our efforts; the location we're camping at is atop a mountain and yet has managed to become a morass of slimey mud. I find some scant comfort in the promise of not one, but two gardens this year. (Hoping the work doesn't get washed away or baked by a dry summer.)
An archive of story elements and possible premise layers is building. With three works-in-progress stymied by lack of workable space, there are times I wonder if my brain is about to explode. (If I had computer, internet, and a place to keep it all, that might ease. I'm writing this on a cell phone screen, my outdated eyeglasses off, my nose barely three inches from the device.) So many ideas, so much that needs doing on a practical basis, and still the flood washes over and around me.
First, we need a solid roof, food and clean water, medical care. Before winter. A regular income of some sort is mandatory. After the plans for that are set in motion, we need enough freedom to actually have a life again.
I simply refuse to become enslaved to a bank again. We'll pay as we go or do without. We cannot ever, at our ages and in our health situations, afford to make such mistakes.
And so: as the means to an end (basic survival, long term), the search for viable work within our abilities is officially begun.
Cross your fingers. If Plan A fails, writing books will become a mere pass time occupation for me. One cannot live on dreams alone, no matter how devoted one might be to the concept. Disability is a severe complication to the situation.
As always, be kind to those with invisible illnesses (www.butyoudontlooksick.com).
Also find me at my author page: http://rleetipton.blogspot.com ... #RLeeTipton .