Why am I awake?

It's four thirty in the morning. It seems like the older I get, the less I sleep. Age doesn't kill people, it's the lack of sleep. I was in bed but I have a cold and couldn't stand the suffering any longer. Since my running partners are still resting comfortably in their homes, I thought I drop a quick note. My writing hasn't gone as well as I'd hoped this week. It has turned out to be an incredibly busy week. I should have known when I got off to such a great start on Monday that it was a sign of things to come. Monday's are rarely great writing days for me. I don't normally write fiction on Sundays so it takes me a day or two to pick up enough momentum to dive back into my story again. Lately however, there hasn't been much diving at all. More of slight toe dipping and shuddering because the waters too cold.

I am inching towards the finish, but it seems like the closer I get to the finish, the harder it is to reach my goal. Perhaps I am too much of a perfectionist. Perhaps I let too many quaking ducks (as Jane Yolen likes to call life's necessary distractions) get in the way. Or perhaps I'm just not quite ready.

I've wanted to be a story teller my entire life. It's ingrained as deeply in me as my brown eyes or my quirky little run. It's a part of who I am. A huge part. Because of this, I think I'm a little terrified to make it happen. Dreams are huge unmanageable things. They have a way of taking on a life of their own and becoming more than we can manage.

At fifteen, I wrote a list of things I wanted to accomplish. It was one of those fantasy lists I'm sure came after hearing a motivational speaker at a high school assembly. You know the kind of speaker that inspires every child to believe that they can have anything they want, if they want it badly enough. I don't want to point fingers but I wonder if there is a correlation between depression and the rise of motivational speakers. Seriously, I wonder if those assemblies do more damage than good.

Anyway. I've been pretty lucky in my life and been able to obtain most of the things on my list. lot of my dreams. My body takes me as far as want to go, farther than I ever imagined if we're talking about Yoga. I always knew I wanted to be a writer. I can only imagine how it must feel to walk into a book store, lift a crisp new book from the shelf and know that it is mine.

Word count....0. Don't raz me about it. I was kind of distracted.  BTW Obama's speech. Wow. I finally got to show a speech by a current president without explaining how it could have been better. It's a public speaking miracle. Yay!

Word Count Update.

Monday--Word Count 2760.

I'm Back

Hello readers.

Welcome to my new blog. For my loyal followers who have waited for something. Thanks for being patient. It's great to be back. 

 I've been on a media diet for the last few months. It was great. Far too much time is wasted on the internet, away from sunlight, living like a vampire in a virtual world. It's too mind numbing for me. Life is too short to waste inside. 

I suppose that sounds pretty hypocritical in a blog. Ahem. It is. So if you want to log off and go make a snow angel. You have my blessing. Go breath in the fresh air and thank the heavens you are alive. 

Ah. You're still reading. Not so easily persuaded aye? That's okay. I'm not always so eager to step away either. Especially when there is laundry to fold, floors to wash, papers to grade, kids to bath and it's twelve degrees outside. Life can really put a cramp in living. Funny thing is, it keeps of plugging along even if I'd like it to stop. 

Yesterday as I was enjoying a wonderful lunch with my critique group--Shout out to Melinda, Jared, Mike, Amy and Kaye--In the middle of an intense conversation on the patience required to write a novel, I realized that I have been working on the same WIP for seven months. Seven months. Argh. I know, you writers are laughing yourselves silly because in novel terms, seven months isn't even a hiccup. Still, in terms of publication, it can feel like an eternity. Especially if an editor requested something in June and it's say...January. Yes, I am insane. And a perfectionist. Okay, my revising and editing borders on OCD.

Anywho? Where did the time go? Did I fall through a worm hole? Seriously? Have I lapsed into some kind of time space coma?

My story still feels so fresh. It's held my interest exclusively for so long, I've barely noticed that it's sixty degrees colder outside. I've never worked on a singular WIP for so long without getting distracted. If my writing were a relationship, I'd be a chronic adulterer. I'm constantly cheating on my own work. But this story is different. I still love it. The characters have grown on me so much I can't imagine abandoning them. In fact on my hour and a half drive home yesterday, I realized that this book is probably the beginning of a series. (My writers group is collectively renting their clothes.) Sorry guys, it's true. I'm in love with a cast of characters. All seventeen and eighteen years old. Can it get any better? 

So now I just need to finish the revision. I have four weeks and six days until I am supposed to deliver it to my group. I'm already at 45,000 words. I have at least 25,000 more to go. Eep! Am I ready for this? Is my writers group? Stay tuned for my progress. I'm shooting for 55,000 words by Thursday, January 23. Can I do it? Stay tuned.