For a moment my ego peeked its ugly head into the creative process. My ego had been cast aside, forgotten as I dove head first into my imagination, writing and rewriting and rewriting. Remarkably, and rewarding, from somewhere within the jumble of my thoughts the characters began developing as if they were actually stepping off the pages onto my keyboard and writing the story their own damn selves! Perhaps I should blame the characters for the horrendous critiques spat like acid on me by my first three readers? No? Well, it was just a thought. In fact, and true to my past 50 years, I am only distracting myself from the work needed to produce something worth doing. Seeking whatever reason to quit something that I enjoy doing but is now requiring even more time and effort.
“Womanhouse was a 1971 art installation, performance piece, feminist collaboration and actual house-located at 553 Mariposa Avenue in Hollywood, California. The project was run by the Feminist Art Program at the California Institute of Arts. A group of twenty-six women repaired the home before a planned demolition, using their carpentry skills to transform it into a space for women-made art, and a work of art in and of itself. "