Time management this winter has devolved into weighing the dozens of stories DEMANDING to be written against the hordes of gastropods determined to devour everything that doesn't eat them first in the garden.
Fortunately, the perennial herbs I depend on the most (thyme, sage, rosemary) are holding their own. In other words, they're largely unpalatable to the blasted snails and slugs. However, except for some wintering-over peppers and a couple of cherry tomato and basil plants that didn't get the "annuals" message, the rest of the garden is turned under and "resting" until spring planting season. No lettuce. No radishes. None of the usual Zone 10 (no frost) winter crops.
I have declared a strategic retreat in the escargot wars. I'm ensconced in the office with the dog, a cat sleeping on the printer, a wall full of "inspirational" pictures, and 2417 words that are almost ready for submission. The closest I'm getting to the garden tonight is a story about a man, a woman, and a hothouse full of creamy pink cymbidium orchids.
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