If it's Tuesday, it's time for your confessions. Share a little of yourself with us and we'll try to do the same.
There is a raccoon living in our attic. Saw the critter last night entering from the hole on the side of the roof. (Expletive.) He/she's a fat raccoon (maybe she's pregnant?), and when I threw my daughter's beach bucket, the closet thing I could find, and hit it, it looked at me as if to say, "That's it? What else you got? Bring it." Then went back into my attic.
I am writing from the Salem Athenaeum this morning. Every week, J.D. Scrimgeour opens up the space to local writers for a few hours. Very quiet here. I should be working on poems, but my track record for writing Tuesday blog posts on Tuesday has been questionable as of late.
It's been a quiet week since I last wrote. Working with new drafts, but nothing I would mark as a finished poem, which is good. I don't feel rushed or stressed to finish anything. My goal is to have solid work by late July and then make some decisions about what happens next. I'm jotting down lines for poems at my son's baseball games and my daughter's Tae Kwondo practice. That's a good sign.