Life, actually…

.

MARKING TIME WITH BOONDOGGLERS

.

Wasting time is the most productive thing I do in my little corner of the world.

.

When I consider a book for possible acquisition, I look as if I am not doing anything at all. I hold it, stare, turn it over, riffle, check copyright page, sniff for contaminations, and so on and so forth. To the casual observer I am merely frozen in place, book in hand, doing a lot of nothing. You know—I’m that old guy having an old guy moment.

.

I seem to be a boondoggler.

.

At my writing desk in my writing room, I stare motionless at surroundings—walls, pictures, ephemera, fixtures, displays, bookcases. If you catch me in the non-act, I seem to be stop-motioned and absent-minded.

.

I am thinking, I am thinking, I tell you! Busy busy.

.

When a droner drones on, I am gazing deeply as though attention is being paid. In fact, I am sometimes somewhere else, though my alert body tells a fib. If the droner is infatuated with the droning, my diverted self will not be noticed.

.

Honest, we authors and artists are doing our best work when static and mulling.

.

By the way, the actual production of a ponderment seldom takes more than a few minutes. A fully-formed story may just stream through my fingers onto keyboard keys and produce a six-hour work of art in two minutes of typing. This may feel like cheating to you, but it is no more mysterious than cooking an omelet or laying a brick.

.

Most of the time, I don’t get caught not paying attention until the very end. When the droning ends and my only reaction is to say, “There is a dab of chocolate on the tip of your nose. Thought you’d like to know,” the droner suddenly realizes nobody was listening.

.

I don’t mean to offend, but this is the way it is, here in Boondoggle Land

.

 © 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed