Last night my husband suggested that I not be a housewife at all, and simply be a writer. The house will get cleaned the way it always has: Hardly ever. But at least something will be written.
So on this cold, rainy day, I put on a fancy pair of earrings that I don't normally wear and wrapped my grandmother's shawl around myself. I lit up my office and turned on some music. I settled onto the floor with a large whiteboard and began brainstorming. I tacked notes onto a cork board.
So far what I've learned is that outlining for a novel is not a fast and easy process. If characters are to be fully developed, I imagine I should develop them and know them before I write about them.
Midway through the day, my cowboy boots arrived. I ordered them yesterday (free overnight shipping!) because I've always wanted a pair of cowboy boots and now that I'm an eccentric writer, I can wear whatever the hell I want! For the record, the boots I got are considered "booties" because they don't go all the way up the leg. I love them, still.