Saturday

There's a patch of beard under my lower lip that I could really afford to get rid of. Right now I just stick my tongue out and lick the curls which is all fun and games until I swallow one and then it's just... irritating.

Saturday, i make up for the things I didn't do during the week of retreat. When I was on retreat, not working on this novel I wondered if I would be able to return to it or not. I often do when I'm away from a story for a few days, the fear that it will grow tiresome, that if it were really a good story then how could I possibly stay away from it for days. How could I possibly have a life?

I've set to making an outline (or plotline) for this next book. Everytime I tell a new story I enter strange waters. Some strange waters demand no map at all, a free flowing mind. Others need outlines, strategies, visions and revisions before one can even begin. For some time I've been putting off doing an outline. Then today I know it will be the day. I tell myself-- since I haven't outlined in a very long time, this will be simple, short work. A paragraph at the most. Two pages through my journal i'm still making a rough sketch of the first chapter....