I sit on my patio in the sweltering heat. The fringe tree’s leaves remain light green, but slightly curled. Its blossoms have long since faded. I’ll have to water this evening. My brain has congealed into a Jello like mass. All jiggly after days of formatting my novella for KDP and Ingram Spark. None of the neurons seem to be firing properly. I feel a bit disembodied. This has really been like a tough day at work.
A conversation with my children comes to mind. I thought I’d have more time when I retired. I speak. My daughter reminds me not only do I write most days, but I’ve joined a writers club and often participate in events other than the monthly meetings. And I hold an officer’s position in the club. She’s right of course. I do all these things and visit with them.
Still, I my frustrated feelings about my lack of time in retirement persist. My son says. Mom, you never retired, you know. You write like it’s a job. If you’re not working on your latest book, you’re marketing. My daughter jumps in. Or doing an event. I pause taking all this into consideration. They are right, as an indie author all the roles involved in writing, marketing and selling a book are mine to fill.
Sensing my continued frustration, they both laugh. Kindly, gently, my daughter says. Mom, you just have a nicer boss now. Hmm. Okay, if I’m the boss, I’ll give myself sometime off once I get the last two manuscripts formatted for hardcover. And then my brain kicks in again. You have the marketing to work out. I resolve to take two days off when the uploads are complete. Will I do it? Possibly since my daughter and her children will be here for two days. For now, I return to the cooler indoors, promising to water my flowers in the early evening.
Comments