Since moving closer to relatives, they tend to come visit more often. This isn’t a bad thing, but it sure does mean I don’t get anything but the barest of essentials done. It’s the darned Southern hostess gene. The gene that dictates you must see to your guests’ comfort at all times, that you must accomodate their wishes and be available to fix them nice lunches or big dinners every day.

I can’t work too well with people in my house. I feel guilty, like I’m ignoring them, even when they don’t seem to require my attention at that moment. It’s easier, as an uncontracted writer, to drop everything and go take care of them. And then there’s the cycle of guilt that comes from that, from knowing that a real writer wouldn’t drop a thing to make sure his or her father-in-law has his coffee at the crack of dawn every day.

But, the two week cycle of company is over for now (and we had a blast with our first guest, the very self-sufficient and always fun Mark who posts here on occasion — though he did drag me to a botanical garden in high 90 degree heat). I have to reorient my brain to work. Today’s lunch with Problem Child should help me think writing again. And this weekend, Heart of Dixie has a big writing workshop that I’m looking forward to.

What’s on your writing plate these days? Getting lots done, or trying to dig out from the post-holiday malaise?