Sara Teasdale's poem, "The Long Hill" has always been one of my favorites. She speaks of how she ended up on the other side of the "hill" before she realized it. The reason she didn't notice is "brambles" that catch on her clothing and cause her to look down rather than ahead.
The brambles have been at me today. A mistake in mailing out promotional material, little things that sidetrack me from my work plan, and that worst of bugaboos, computer problems.
What happened to that image I had in my head of dashing off a manuscript in the next month? The idea is there, almost complete. The characters are dying to tell their story. But there are phone calls to make, corners to clean, and even cookies to bake. Brambles.
Truth to tell, when you've fallen back to your dial-up connection, even blogging becomes a bramble and therefore isn't as much fun (or as long) as usual.