Currently reading - Poison Kisses by Stephanie Draven
Since the boys left for the snowy North, I've been beseiged with offers for company. Apparently my friends and neighbors feel I will wither and die without companionship. Make that human companionship. Wonder Dog rarely let's me out of his sight with the other male members of the pack currrently absent.
My house is quiet for the first time in years, and I thoroughly enjoy the lack of extraneous noise. The blasts and booms of the Xbox, the constant ringing of DH's business line, the whining over schoolwork. Nope, don't miss the noise at all.
Here's the thing--I like being alone. I can live quietly in my own mind. I think most writers can. It's the rest of the world that can't. They believe lack of noise means lack of existence.
I believe the opposite. I'm most lonely when I'm in a room full of people. Too many people with too many agendas, and if they can't use me to fulfill their agendas, then I don't exist to them.
So I'll putter in my house with my projects, living grand adventures and passionate romances in my head before committing them to the computer screen. After I feed Wonder Dog.
4 hours ago