
I've begun a sequel and am almost finished with the first draft. The trouble is, these long, summer days are not conducive to sitting down at a computer and imagining other worlds. I made it a goal this year to clean up the yard and most days I'm out there working. I expect I look a sight with my knee-high rubber boots, stained jeans and tee, and a bandanna wrapped around my forehead because, to be honest, I sweat. A lot.
A young neighbor walked by yesterday and asked, "How old are you?"
I didn't think it was impertinent and I'm not ashamed of my age, so I told her. She looked amazed. "I hope I'm that young when I'm old," she said. "You sure have a lot of energy."
I didn't tell her my back hurt and that as soon as I cleaned up the trash in the yard that I'd created by my "energetic" lopping of branches and pulling up vines, I was going inside to put my feet up and possibly drink the last beer in the refrigerator.
"Just stay active," I told her, "and you will be."
Reminded me of what a relative said at our recent family weekend. "Sandy does pretty well for her age."
Ha. I think I do, too. Especially when I sit down to write. Then, age doesn't matter. I'm the same age as my heroine, and as eager for adventure. I remember what it was like to fall in love and it doesn't seem that long ago. The only difference between me and a 20-something author is that I have more experience to draw on.
Yep, I hope I'm that young when I'm old!