Finger Tattoo

I used to think love was an unique thing, feeling. But to her it was just tallys, simple small black lines on her finger. Barely there memories inked forever on her skin, that faded in her heart.

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My Greatest Enemy is Procrastination

I have been rereading some of my older short stories that I had begun but never completed. Apparently, I flit from idea to idea and do not want to finish anything. I think part of it is procrastination, but a big part is that I do not want the fantasy to end.

I tend to get into my stories so deeply that I think about them at all times when I am doing those real-life things that we all have to do to survive efficiently in this world. Things like laundry, cooking, cleaning (yuck!), and basic self-cleanliness. I won’t go into that because I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.

I was thinking about how to murder someone and then use self-defense as an alibi the other evening while I was preparing supper. And sometimes when I get really quiet while watching a TV program, I am actually thinking about some storyline that isn’t quite working out and what I can do to change it. Sometimes I get an idea that appears in my brain like a brilliant flash of lightning. I know if I don’t write it down, it will be gone in that flash, too.

This morning I got a message on Reddit that one of my westerns has a major error in it about the ammunition that a Civil War Colt Walker uses. My goodness! I can’t have a historical inaccuracy in one of my stories! That is anathema.

So I have already thought through that little problem and come up with a historically accurate workaround, so my story will still work. (This piece of information was an integral part of the plot, so it has to work.)

But, I haven’t done it yet. Instead, I am writing this off the top of my head. Procrastination strikes again.

I have not yet discovered the solution to my problem of dilly-dallying. Putting off until the last minute is great when you actually have a designated last-minute deadline to meet. But I am retired, writing in my spare time, and I have no deadline — except my self-imposed deadline of only writing for two hours each afternoon. That’s because I’m married and want to devote most of my time right now to my husband and making him happy. (I love making him happy. It seems to surprise him as if no one ever tried to make him happy before.)

Since I’m rambling anyway as part of my avoidance problem, I would like to make a final comment on Quora. As…

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