I’ve been writing furiously, doing a thing for National Cowboy Day, doing berries, and more berries, zukes I’m lookin’ at you, kid…
Grudgingly I decided to mow and get it over with before the heat, humidity and storms hit this afternoon.
I ran out of battery on the wireless headphones. Then I ran out of gas.
The pièce de résistance? Blew a sidewall on the right front of our Deere John garden tractor.
The Universe says don’t mow, sweety.
Sweety is listening.
Gotta love A/C and diving into the next chapter.
Michael’s weirded out by his breakdown. Sonny’s all mother hen. Both need time outs. Problem is, there’s someone out there with an agenda that’s gonna change everything. #amwriting
Timber Lake: follow along HERE.
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About Nya Rawlyns
Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
sorry to hear this..it figures something like this happens when you are busy and trying to be proactive..
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