Writer thwarted, once again, by feline

As I am puttering around this morning–feeding animals, emptying the dishwasher, turning the tomato seedlings–I find I have the opening scene to my story, THE NINTH DRAGON, running around in my head… images, full sentences and all. So I hustle into the office to jot down these thoughts only to discover that I am out of scrap paper. Serendipitously (hopefully!) I have used an entire draft print of my novel, AFTER THE VIRUS, to brainstorm a series of short stories set in that universe.

Anyway, I remember I have some coloured paper upstairs that is who knows how old (5 years maybe) so I grab a 1 inch stack, title and date the top page and settle in to write out the first scene (or at least the parts I have running in my head).

I swear I only turned away for a second, but that is all it took to lose the paper to Leo, pen and all.

I seriously hope this isn’t a commentary on the quality of the writing–the paper makes a better bed than book? Or perhaps I really should just stop reading into every little thing the cats do. They like to sleep on things–end of (potentially dull) story.

Insert even cuter picture here:

Now get back to work! Me, not you. You feel free to do what pleases you.