A monkish life despite my smut-writing tendencies is testament to both a.) my mental nuttiness (panic disorder, anxiety exasperation, OCD tendencies, PTSD flirtations, and the like) and b.) my general goody-two-shoe-ness.
Yes, I’m an inherently boring person who when given the choice between being good or bad abashedly chooses the good.
So, it is in this “angelic” fervor that I try not to work on Sundays. God says a day of rest is needed and I say okay.
Or at least I try.
But my mind goes a little spasmodic without writing of some sort to occupy it. The old brain needs to latch onto some creative project to save it from spiraling down into “Crap, I’m crazy” mode.
So, yesterday, in my ultimately futile efforts of being restful, I did the following…
1.) Wrote a chunk of a children’s story. No, not young adult. I’m talking young kid… I know, I know. Don’t ask me why. I just know there was an ostrich involved and a toothbrush. Other than that, I haven’t got a clue.
2.) Flirted with the idea of starting a travel blog… Laughable. First, I don’t have the time. Second, what would I call it, “Where the Monks Go To Party”?
3.) Skimmed through calls for submissions again. No particular genre in mind. Just trolling the Want Ads and thinking “Hey, how hard could it be to write a steampunk variation of The Grapes of Wrath?”
So, as you can see, I do try to be good.
Please, oh please, let that mean something.