I have to force myself to write in another 15-minute increment, otherwise, I really will never, ever right in this blog of mine.
Because of all the things I have on my plate, sometimes I have to add yet another thing to really tip things over. The latest project I have adopted is working on a fiction piece. It is something I actually have found is easier for me to work on offline, so I don’t get distracted by all the things I absolutely must research and find and buy and check up on.
Yesterday, I didn’t exactly follow my own advice. I kept starting and starting again — every time getting distracted by something in the house that needs work. I did everything else except write, actually. Laundry, another load of laundry, and then a cake. I did the latter while singing the alto range of a piece I am working on with the local choir.
One of the sentences I wrote, reminded me of my late grandmother, so I decided to research the recipe for this cake. As it turns out, most Kugelhopfs are made with yeast — much like a brioche. I was not really in the mood to messing with a yeast-based recipe, because they can get a little complicated, so I called my mother.
Oma’s Baking Powder Kugelhopf
“Hey, do you have Oma’s Gugelupf recipe?”
“Well, because I want to bake a cake,” I continued, feeling like I needed to whip up an excuse for not writing.
“… Yeah, sure, I’m looking for it right now,” she said, a bit distracted, rifling through her recipe book. My mom stashes her handwritten recipes inside recipe books — and uses only the handwritten notes, not the actual recipes published in the books. It’s an interesting filing system that I have yet to understand. “Here it is.”
“Thanks, because I have been looking online and all the recipes call for yeast, and I just can’t remember Oma’s having yeast.”
“Oh, no, hers was always the Baking Powder variety. It’s faster and easier to bake, but it’s not as heavy as a pound cake, for example.”
So, I went ahead and baked a cake, which has turned out to be my breakfast today.
And, yes, I am really supposed to be writing in my work of fiction, but here I am — writing, just not quite what I wished to be working on.