The frosty bit is outside. It's cold and beautiful. The best thing about walking my grandson in his buggy is that I'm getting some really healthy exercise. I don't feel guilty, or that I'm shirking a writing task, but I just wish I could train myself to ponder my next novel, as it seems Charles Dickens could do.
I read that he regularly walked miles and miles every day and during the walk he composed (in his head) each next part of his serialised novel. On his return to his house, he then dashed it down, his pen flying across the paper. After a quick check, the copy went off to the printer to be ready for the next edition of the weekly newspaper that he wrote for.
I tried this morning to plan out the next bit of Book 4 of my Celtic Fervour Series but the frost on the trees and the bushes...and the ruts on the pavement became too much of a distraction. That procrastinatting reared its ugly head yet again.
I got some nice photos though.
Like my beautiful silver birch, I've got a bit of stretching to do to reach the heights for publishing my time travel The Taexali Game. This afternnon I'll be trawling the net, again, to find that perfect print option for The Taexali Game.
Slainthe!
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