The lack of words in my world of fiction is hanging over me, much like the grey clouds outside. Work has been so busy that by the time I get home I am too mentally shattered to write. My creativity has been poured into the drafting I do for a living. Plans to do some "me time" writing flew out the door. I slept in yesterday, made a much needed call to my sister in England, then headed out to the Pirongia Craft fair. While the fair might seem a frivolous waste of time compared to writing, hubby has been as busy at work as I, so we decided we needed to shake off the pressure and get away from home & work (I had seriously contemplated going into the office again to make a dent in the work for next week but decided against it).
The Pirongia fair has been a regular calendar event for some years, and much talked about within the town. It's a pleasant drive to Pirongia, and it is a lovely wee village. Well the weather did not let us down, it remained the same as it has been for the last couple of weeks, wet. But it did not deter us, I had my new trusty oilskin coat & hubby had his thermals on under his coat so we strolled around for a couple of h0urs taking in all the different stalls. We stopped for tea on the front lawn of some kind mature ladies who have regularly put on high tea for the event - we must have a looked rediculous seated under the sun umbrella wrapped up in wet weather gear sipping tea and nibbling cake, but it was good tonic for the way things have been so hectic of late.
Im thinking of taking up the writing challenge in the Nanonovember thingy, even though Ive also signed up for a quilting course. I took some relief reading somewhere that there are quite a few authors who did not complete their novels until into their 60's so someone late 40's is a spring chicken.