I've been getting up to write at 5:30 or 6:00 for so long, I don't know how not to. I am still "recovering" from the six months of steady writing and editing of "Troubled_Waters" and I don't feel like writing at the moment, but it doesn't mean my body clock's reverted.
Yesterday's poem was fun to write, but in puttering around on the pffa, I've discovered how much I've forgotten. I'm having a tough time seeing the flaws the critters in the advanced forums are pointing out, unless they are glaring (cliches, ect). I find myself thinking, "Wow! I really liked that one!" and then someone I respect pops in with, "This line is problematic . . . " Maybe it's a matter of exposure and practice. Is it like a foreign language? Do you lose it if you don't use it? Maybe this is part of my creative hang-over.
Meanwhile, now that I've cleared my schedule of most obligations, and managed to put work into regular time slots, I'm finally in a position to re-evaluate my life as is and determine what I do and don't want to take on. The list of don'ts is long.
There's actually only one "do" and it's a no-brainer. I miss walking four times a week: I miss sweating as I hike down the trail and wildflowers and cicadas in the summer and rushing home to identify the new plant I just saw and jumping from one rock to another over the running creeks in the spring. In the winter I miss slipping on the ice and wondering why the hell I didn't turn back and put on my hiking boots when I realized how bad it was and the dozens of tiny adventures in the form of spotting wildlife and meeting the occasional mushroom hunter. And I know Solomon misses it. Lately he's taken to laying between my feet with toys, jumping up every time I move and barking at every little sound. I am not only not taking care of myself, I'm not taking care of him. Shame on me. At this point, it's the only thing I'm planning to add back in. Yay me.
I ordered a book on query letters yesterday. I hope it helps decode the process a little.