This is my dad and me, in Bedford, IN, watching my brother play Glory Days flag football.
My brother lives in Dallas, and I live in St. Louis.
My uncle also lives in St. Louis, but I mostly see him in Indiana, where we gather for reunions.
Today, my uncle asked me if I needed to have a certain routine, or a certain pen, or a certain kind of paper to write with.
Ah, such luxuries I indulged in only before kids and job juggling. I vaguely remember the luxury of knowing, for example, the location of my special pens, papers, notebooks, time of day, desk. . . .
In my real life, though, I am learning to write where I am. Any time. All the time. In the flow. As I can.
Which is why I now have a painted dining room, a family reunion, a high school flag football fundraiser called Glory Days (no--I didn't play; I screamed and hugged people) . . . and over 15,000 words.
Something I never managed to do back when I had the luxury of special routines.
P.S. For those of you who are reading my mind as the story develops (because I'm not about to let anyone, even the lovely Ladies of the Gordian Knot, near this version): our timid hero is about to hatch a plan to rescue the missing Library Dragon. He would rather be reading a biography.
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