Sunday afternoon and evening was all about writing. After a lunch prepared by a teenager (chicken nuggets and fries from a Mrs. Paul's frozen dinner bag), and a few phone calls to family and friends, Becky and I settled in at our various stations for a long haul of writing . . . she working on a term paper on Leadership in Schools and me on an eclectic blend of essays, articles, and a new novel that finally consumed enough of my imaginative energies that I had to get jiggy-wid-it.
My son even got into the act, prepping his writing desk in the loft (a new space that he has stolen from his sister while she is absent at Ball State). His new room is now a veritable cornucopia of Colts posters. Every now and again he would holler down from his lofty perch with questions like, "How do you spell 'concussion?'" or "What's that smell?"
Me? I completed my fourth, and I hope, final draft of an essay and then began the heavy lifting of a new novel.
Eventually, as the twilight rolled in, Becky asked me, "Would you mind reading my paper on Leadership and giving me your opinion for improvement?"
"No," I hollered back from my corner before we completed our little foray at 10:45 p.m. "But that means you'll have to read my 1500-word essay."
"No way. I have a headache!"
Love is great ain't it?
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