I've had a lovely, lovely Easter weekend in every respect. Woke to rain this morning and fell back asleep. By the time I woke up, it was thinking about being sunny and then it turned into a glorious day. We've enjoyed good time together as a family over the weekend, roto-tilled a new garden, watched Sherlock Holmes (meh), sang praises at church, hosted a sleepover, survived a family dinner, visited the butcher, and lots more.
The only trouble is I'm having contractions - and I hope they aren't just Braxton-Hicks ones.
Let me splain: a common malady I suffer from is dawdling with my fiction until the last hour before the family returns home for the day. I don't get like this with paid work, but sometimes I find it hard to get my head into the fiction space. Once I'm there, it's ducky. The corollary to this, of course, is that I have an incredible urge to write whenever I can't. They feel kind of like contractions.
Well, yes, I could have sat and typed on my laptop while everyone else hung loads of laundry, hunted eggs, caught fish and dug compost, but really that's not a choice. Not a good one anyhow.
Tomorrow I have to work Outside The Home because that's what I do on Tuesdays. I'm just hoping these contractions a) don't keep me up at night, b) keep going until I can write on Wednesday, and c) result in a bouncing baby chapter or two.