Writers, like homeowners, need a variety of skills, unless like Dame Barbara Cartland who had staff to do domestic work so she could sleep in and then write from her bed. She’s said to have written 723 books. And there was John Milton, a blind poet who “wrote” by dictating to his daughters, who then put his words on paper. But most writers are generalists. We write and buy groceries, write and do the laundry, write and have the car serviced. We weave imagination with the mundane. Take out the trash and revise a novel. Drive to the library in the rain desperate for a fresh read and take the cat to the vet. See the eye doctor and submit poems to editors who may think us brilliant or blah.

It’s a salad kind of life, tossed, dressed, kept fresh and crisp until it wilts, and then we walk the dog, taking note as we go of peonies and poppies. We listen to the news, mourn the latest atrocity, applaud progress toward world peace, and then pick up the pen or open the laptop and make something original out of thin air. I wouldn’t have it any other way.