Seriously conflicted

Can you tell my vacation is over?

I haven’t blogged all week! When the nose is pressed to the PC screen and the fingers are poised on the keys nine hours a day there’s not much time left over to blog . . . or to have a life to blog about.

And that’s the problem with a writer having a blog and why I’ve never bothered having one before–writers write, to the exclusion of everything else, especially if that writer is lucky enough to be on a creative roll. Inside my head is a veritable cauldron of brewing ideas. The scenarios, plots, characters etc are exciting and frustrating and maddening–to me. To anyone else, I’m just a woman sitting at the PC gazing out a window onto a gray wintry day.

The creative process is essentially boring to write about and writing about the actual story tends to suck the juices right out of the drama. So that leaves writing about me, the writer.

I’m relatively sane, well-adjusted, and doing what I want to do. Show me a basically happy person, and I’ll show you one helluva boring story . . .

Here’s my boring story for last week in summary:

The revisions on CAPTIVE are done. One more read-through, and I’m calling it a wrap. No idea where the book will end up. Thus far, CAPTIVE remains my all-around bestseller and generates the most reader email. Years after writing certain scenes, the eroticism still turns me on. The characters defy cookie-cutter description. No IMHO here, plain and simple, the book deserves a print format. Small presses are fine, though I wouldn’t turn my nose up at NYC. Any publishers out there reading this? Make me a decent offer. I can be bought . . .

I’m halfway through TOUCH ME. I’m dumping some wordiness, refining the logic and prose, keeping the edginess. I like edgy stories.

I bake a lot when I write–Not pies; those I reserve for special occasions. Last week, I made brownies (twice), chocolate chip cookies, date coconut balls, and oatmeal bread. I like baking bread. Since I now have the new Kitchen-Aid mixer with the bread hook attachment (Yes, another Christmas appliance gift from the sons) I no longer have to knead the dough. This, I miss. The Kitchen-Aid is a stand up machine, but there’s nothing like pummeling lumpy dough for working out life’s frustrations.

Because I bake a lot . . . and writing is a sedentary occupation . . . I also exercise a lot. I have to, and not only for weight control. Come spring, I’ll pick my posterior off the chair and go play in the dirt. As I’m not a white glove, Garden Club gardener, I need to keep up my stamina and muscular strength during the winter months so I can jump back into my second occupational passion.

Remember that seriously silly impulse to send off two partials to NYC? The post office is returning the priority mail to me. Evidently, I cut-and-pasted the incorrect street addy on the label. If you believe there are no genuine mistakes in life, only unconscious motivations, what does this say about my underlying feelings vis-a-vis NYC publishing?

Hmmm . . .


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