Life in Milford

I've gone to ground for a while in Milford, Pennsylvania, the little town on the banks of the Delaware where my mom lives. It's a beautiful town, surrounded by wooded hills (with bears and everything, although I haven't seen any this trip so far).

I'm surprisingly busy: I'm keeping Margaret going on her schoolwork (and adding extra subjects and topics, because, frankly, she's not pushed that hard in school and it does her good to stretch a bit). I'm cooking dinners for my mom, Margaret, and me, which is really fun but does take a bit of time. I'm keeping up with my email, which is surprisingly time-consuming. I'm working on drafting three stories, revising one of my Clarion stories, and writing the next chapter to my novel. I'm supposed to be doing the final installment in my playwriting course-by-correspondence, but that's down the queue a bit. And I'm watching lots and lots of Star Trek! (Mom's got super-dooper mega cable.)

The problem is, even with all this going on, there are very few distractions, and I'm perfectly free to completely hate and detest everything I'm writing. And I do. It's all crap. All. And yet I must keep writing. It's part compulsion, and part guilt. (I'm being supported by my family so that I can write, so I'd better write. Especially since I just TURNED DOWN an editing gig so I could focus on the writing.

I guess I'll work through it. Or get used to writing crap....