ROW80: Start Where You Are . . .

The last month I've been struggling with the writing. Fits and starts. Revamps. Edits. But with today's check-in for ROW80, I feel optimistic. I almost accept that life will not return to a harmonious and simple schedule. 

That new baby granddaughter will arrive maybe this week. Writing will come second. DH is finally recovered from his surgery. That means we can start to do activities together once again. New schedule! Writing will come second.

Even with 43,000 words on my next book, the ending doesn't ring true for my characters.

Background: View from Steptoe Butte,
eastern Washington State (Camp 2014)

But I saw something online, can't even remember where, maybe Facebook, maybe Twitter. Can't find the source, just a simple statement:  "There will never be a perfect time. Just start where you are." 

Finally, that jolted me into realizing that I won't make forward progress, not even during NaNoWriMo, until I get organized and write something every day. So here are my ROW80 goals for the coming week:

Write 1,000 words on Rivers of Stone.
Blog x3 (combo of travel, writing, and ROW80 blogs).
Critique x1 for Novels-L or GoodReads.
Read 30 pages in Letitia Hargrave's Letters.
Send query to Australian Times for indie book article.
Prep for book club visit thisThursday for Years of Stone.
Finish reading Letters from Brackham Wood for book club.
Participate in WIPpet on Weds and keep plugging away as sponsor for ROW80.
Cherish each day and continue de-cluttering (Note: my inbox is now under 300, down from 3,000).

WIPpet Wednesday: Here's a snippet LATE (should have been on Wednesday) of 26 lines (for October 26) from Rivers of Stone. Cat, still disguised as a boy, is traveling with artist Paul Kane as an assistant, to Fort Vancouver. It's late summer 1842, and they're somewhere west of the plains.

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"Dinna let me have any more of this." Kane shoved a deerskin bag at Cat. "'Tis poisoning me."

Cat put her hand on Kane's forehead. It felt cold and clammy to her touch. "Look at me."

Kane opened his eyes and stared at Cat. His pupils were like pinpoints.

"What have you taken?"

"Don't wanna talk. Here.” He thrust the bottle at her. “Just go. Don't come back 'till morning." Kane’s head fell back on his bedroll, and he slept.

Cat sat on the ground, just outside the tent as dusk fell, unsure what to do or where to go. Ever since they had left the trading post, he had been angry one moment and laughing aloud the next, or nodding off while riding his pony until Cat was afraid he'd fall off.

She pulled the small bottle out of the bag, twisted the top off the vial, and dipped her finger in. Bitter, bitter taste. "What is this?"

Pierre loomed out of the darkness. "That’s laudanum. Ye take it for pain or to ease the dysenterry. Got a bitter taste. That's why we mix it with the rum, no? He don't want it no more? I'll take it off your hands fer a dollar."

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Paul Kane: Lake Huron 1848 (Wikipedia)

Cheer on other writers participating in WIPpet Wednesday HERE, with thanks to Kate Schwengel for encouraging us all.

Check in on other ROW80 writers HERE.

And may your writing go well!