And now back to our regular programming…
Sorry guys. I took last week off, much against my will, and nearly did it again this week.
My writing has a roving eye and I was unfaithful to our blog.
Judging from the heap of dirty tea mugs tossed in the sink, I’d say we have a problem.
This little blog is just shy of three years old. At approximately twice a week, we’re reaching 260 posts today, give or take, plus a Sister’s Retreat series I did last fall and two Ladies’ Sunday School series this year, a chick lit book, a historical fiction, and a Christian novel all in progress, (and I’m not counting emails from home or data entry at work…but I should) let’s just say I’ve made a LOT of words lately.
I have seven books spanning five genres in my “to read” pile.
I’m sure they’re all fantastic.
But I may never know.
Because at the back of everything I do, my blog is calling me.
“Write me!” it demands, “Make me brilliant and funny and heartfelt and famous!”
So, rather than sit down and write it, I moved heaven and earth and attended a local writer’s group yesterday, seeking inspiration. Of course it was fabulous to sit with other people who share my sense of pained procrastination.
I was the youngest in attendance by thirty years, but who’s counting?
“Just think,” I told myself as we shared our writing and our opinions and generally rolled around in the language of King James, “if I drag this out long enough, I can publish my first book when I’m 80!”
As usual, I’m the jack of all words and the master of none.
My blog is having a midlife crisis and I’m at my wit’s end for how to stop it.
Firstly, I sat down and scrutinized my writing and realized it was covered in commas. Covered. This is gonna take a lot of Botox. Where did all these commas come from?
Secondly, I went to coffee with a certain disciplinarian who reinforced the idea that I was fat with ideas. There are too many goodies on my plate and I want to eat them all even though I know it will hurt. I sat with an almond croissant in my mouth, nodding at his wisdom and wondering if I could market a book and magazine articles simultaneously.
Tick tock tick tock.
Nothing in my closet fits. I can’t button up my books, the blog needs regular ironing, and I can only wear the classes to church. I need to get a basic, classic, goes-with-everything project and go all Coco Chanel on the writing world.
I’m considering an Erma Bombeck transplant.
No one will know. It’ll be our little secret.
I’m ready to feel the Paris breeze beneath my laptop and walk among glamorous agents in sleek convention centers. I’m ready to jet across the country to sip champagne in New York publishing houses while rubbing elbows with famous authors.
I want to make a trophy book before I’m too old to read it.
In order to curb my imminent hysteria, I’ve taken up meditation.
You’ll find me in the library, eyes closed, inhaling the fragrance of aging paper.
Sitting somewhere between ‘Satire’ and ‘Tragedy’.