It has been months since I've put anything substantive down on paper or onto the computer. I have two novels and a memoir "in the can" but haven't made any effort, at all, to publish anything. I may have writer's block, or perhaps editor's block, but I can't seem to get off the dime and do anything with my writing projects.
Speaking of projects, I have at least a half dozen "handyman" projects awaiting action here at the house, in the yard, in the garage, in the shed, in the basement, or on the pickup truck.
In the spring I put off projects "until it quits raining," I said. Then I wanted to wait until it was warmer in the summer. Now I look forward to autumn, with those summer projects still uncompleted. I kind of start-up a lot of things, but I am a poor finisher; like I fear I might die once every project is completed and there would be no reason to keep on breathing.
Here I am with my dogs, CheyAnna, a Dalmatian-Boston Terrier cross, (called a Dalton Terrier), and big Coby, a Lab-Rottweiler cross. Both of them think they ought to be lap-cats, if we would just allow them to be all that they could be. We do not let the big guy onto the bed. CheyAnna, however, gets whatever she wants.