For 5 years I've wanted to attend the RWA National Conference. I've plotted, planned, and saved. I've bought tickets twice. I've never made it.
Something always comes up. The saved money goes to something more urgent or the conference date coincides with a big can't-miss family event.
But hope springs eternal, so this year I'm plotting and planning and saving to go to New York. I have a pair of fun roomies for the hotel stay and a little money (for now). But how will I get there?
Texas to New York in the 21st century. The answer is obvious, right?
Not so fast. You see, I HATE flying. I can fly. I do - if I can't figure out any other way to (reasonably) get somewhere. But if there's another way, any way, I'm interested.
So I've wasted two good hours today, while I could have been writing, arguing with myself about cars and planes and trains. My husband thinks this is highly amusing.
"Fly," he says.
And I give him all the reasons that wouldn't be good.
"Take the train," he says.
I recite all the pros and cons of training my way to New York.
"Perhaps I should drive," I say. "I could camp along the way like I did to Utah last year. See some of the country."
He grins. "Which country? Canada?"
He's right. I have no sense of direction. I'm famous for my "interesting detours". I once tried to drive from Stuttgart, Germany to Paris, France and ended up at the border of Lichtenstein (or was it Luxemburg?). The border guard was quite amused. But I made it to Paris - eventually. I make it almost anywhere I decide to go, just not always by the most direct route.
So will it be planes, trains, or "the scenic tour"? Not sure yet. But I'll let you know.
How do you get where you're going - in life and in writing?
Something that's helping me write today: a timer which lets me know, in the most annoying fashion, that I've wasted all the time allowed today and it's time to get to work.
Something always comes up. The saved money goes to something more urgent or the conference date coincides with a big can't-miss family event.
But hope springs eternal, so this year I'm plotting and planning and saving to go to New York. I have a pair of fun roomies for the hotel stay and a little money (for now). But how will I get there?
Texas to New York in the 21st century. The answer is obvious, right?
Not so fast. You see, I HATE flying. I can fly. I do - if I can't figure out any other way to (reasonably) get somewhere. But if there's another way, any way, I'm interested.
So I've wasted two good hours today, while I could have been writing, arguing with myself about cars and planes and trains. My husband thinks this is highly amusing.
"Fly," he says.
And I give him all the reasons that wouldn't be good.
"Take the train," he says.
I recite all the pros and cons of training my way to New York.
"Perhaps I should drive," I say. "I could camp along the way like I did to Utah last year. See some of the country."
He grins. "Which country? Canada?"
He's right. I have no sense of direction. I'm famous for my "interesting detours". I once tried to drive from Stuttgart, Germany to Paris, France and ended up at the border of Lichtenstein (or was it Luxemburg?). The border guard was quite amused. But I made it to Paris - eventually. I make it almost anywhere I decide to go, just not always by the most direct route.
So will it be planes, trains, or "the scenic tour"? Not sure yet. But I'll let you know.
How do you get where you're going - in life and in writing?
Something that's helping me write today: a timer which lets me know, in the most annoying fashion, that I've wasted all the time allowed today and it's time to get to work.
