I don’t even know where to start this post. The number of email accounts I have? The number of emails I get in a day? The black hole that waits for me when I start reading and following links?

Here’s an example: I get updates from Jennifer Crusie’s Blog, Argh Ink. Hell, I get updates from all kinds of people, but Jenny Crusie is fun to read, and also informative – and I learn things that have the potential to make my writing better. So far so good. And then I read the comments. I’ve gotten to know the people who leave comments on Jenny’s blog and it’s like a huge random conversation with all your friends at once.

What’s not to love.

But then someone posts a link. It looks interesting, and I follow it. In this case, it was to Alisa Burke. She paints big. It looks like fun to me. I start planning to paint my bedroom wall. An hour disappears, and then another as I hop from post to post, learning what I can from her. I can do this, I think. And why didn’t I keep working as an artist?

Meanwhile, I am neither working on my book nor my blog.

This is one email out of several hundred I get in a day. Can you imagine? I have a work email for each of my day jobs, a family email, my official author email, assorted emails for when I want to test a theory or be anonymous. Come to think of it, in one of my day jobs I have two email accounts.

I TRY to only read the important email. Unfortunately, to find the important emails, I have to find them. And that means sorting through some pretty interesting stuff. I am not good at ignoring interesting stuff. I am one of those people who sees something shiny and chases it until something shinier and more interesting catches my eye and then I forget the first thing and start after the second.

No, there is nothing wrong with my attention span. I am excellent at focusing. It’s just that I sometimes focus in the wrong direction. Okay, maybe not wrong. Just not the most productive direction.

And that is why, on top of the 55 hour work week, I am not getting much blogging or writing done.

If you see me out and about in cyberspace, chasing some shiny thing, feel free to remind me that my books and blogs are waiting. Who knows, I might even listen.

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And as such, I’d better get my notes down for today before I crash and burn.

Edinburgh is full of quaint cobble stone al!eys and Our tour director…

No. It’s just no good. I cant…  Zzzzzzzz

 

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The Royalton Memorial Library is doing a Featured Authors night tomorrow and I’m one of the Lucky Authors: I’ve never met Isa Oehry, the other author who will be there, and I feel kind of sorry for her because I’m such an attention hog, but it should be a fun night all the same.

So if you are local, please come. I’m already getting nervous and I’m sure I’m going to either clam right up and have huge awkward silences, or jabber on and make a fool of myself.

At least if you are there I won’t feel so completely on my own!

 

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I haven’t left on the March trip yet and I’m already working on the next trip! And yes, I STILL want you to come. Don’t be surprised if you get a phone call.

This time, it’s for summer. Both Scotland and Ireland. And because it’s summer 2017 you’ll have plenty of time to save up. But it won’t remain open indefinitely, so if you want to come, get your deposit in early.

I’ll be researching the second book in my new Series, and who knows, you might be able to recognize yourself  in it. Unless you don’t want to be recognizable. Then you won’t be in it at all.

Here are the details:  http://kategeorge.grouptoursite.com/

I anticipate this being a ton of fun.

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I was listening to Adele’s new album 25 on the way home today. It’s not something I usually do, listen to music in the car. I’m far more likely to either be listening to a novel or working on my own novel in my head. But the CD got left in my car and I felt like it – so I did. I’m unpredictable that way.

The River Lea came on – I don’t know how many Lyrics I can quote before I get into trouble with copyright so I’m going to talk generally – she’s singing about how the river makes her who she is, how it’s in all of her. This river she grew up next to. And it started me thinking about the places I’ve lived and if they are a part of me. Did I even live in any of them long enough that they became a part of me?

Have I ever listed all the places I’ve lived here? It seems like a lot to put in this post. If you want to know the places I’ve lived click here.

There are places that are part of me. From when I was two to when I was eight I lived on a cattle ranch in Auburn, California, and I spent the rest of my life trying to get back there. I think that’s way Vermont feels so much like home to me. This rural place where people look out for one another.

My memories of the ranch are not all happy. My parents fought. My father worked several hours away and would come home on weekends (sometimes), leaving my mother to take care of the cattle. My mother was a very cultured and sophisticated. She liked opera. She was intelligent. (Not that ranchers aren’t intelligent, but ranching was my father’s thing, not hers.) I do remember those things, but when I remember those times I feel happy.

We had a giant willow tree, its branches brushed the ground and when I parted them and passed through I was in my own special world. There was a stream running under there and I was in my own little world with my tea set and my dress up clothes. I used to borrow my mother’s cast-offs and wander around in them. I’ll see if I can find a photo.

I was heartbroken when my uncle used that tea set for target practice and shot bb holes in every piece.

That place is deeply part of me. It’s why I live in Vermont, even though my children didn’t  take to the outdoors the way I did. I feel at home in the countryside, in a way that I never have felt at home in the city. The frenetic energy of the city unsettles me, even though I like visiting them. I’m always happier away from the crowds, the masses of people. Auburn, California is inside me. So much so that I can’t separate the two. A smell, certain bird song, a word, can take me back there in a moment. It was always the place I felt the most like myself  until we moved to the backroads of Vermont, and here I also feel the most like myself.

Are there other places that make me who I am? Yes, I’m sure there are. But somehow I think that second place, which is the first place I remember distinctly, is the one that really got into my blood.

 

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