It’s slow-going on my YA, but I’m making progress despite the usual distractions:
- books I want to read
- food that may or may not be in the refrigerator so let’s take a look, shall we?
- the internets and its many permutations
- bird action at the feeder and/or bath
- that patch of sunlight calling for me to come take a nap
- etc., etc.
All that’s hard enough, but now I have these lovable cats in the house and they demand my attention.A few minutes ago I was working on my manuscript as Marcel sat in the window behind me, looking at birds and making that funny chuckling sound cats make when they see something they’d like to de-feather, but I was stoic and blocked out his bizarre noises to keep writing. Until, that is, he climbed over my shoulder and down onto my chest where he curled up and aimed his big goofy eyes at me. Really, I’m supposed to have the willpower to ignore such overt emotional manipulation?
Maybe I’m supposed to treat him like a Muse?