Category: Authors

I know I mention this something about me regularly, but once again, I have failed to do my writing first, and now I drag to the computer to do it. Why, oh, why can’t I be one of those Women of Character who fill their whole days with importance and meaning? Why do I peter

Just got home from a terrific authory-visit. One great 8th-grade class, many excellent questions, 2 varieties of goodies to eat (I brought those, not exactly a bribe, but close) and lots of laughs. It was excellent. Thanks to Mrs. Garloch for having me, and to Kid One, who made sure I made it to the

25, 012. WOOT WOOT! One half of a crappy first draft! But a draft with potential. Lots. And a funny MC. And some very great guy characters with flaws and hopeless goals. And love triangles (my favorite) and mixed messages and misunderstandings and soccer legs. Yeah, half a draft!

I’ve done some fun writing today, and now I get to do something I haven’t done in several months. I get to read over a manuscript that has been sitting. It’s technically been sitting on the acquisitions editor’s desk, but also on my computer. Today I’m printing the first half of it, taking it outside

Sunshine = happiness. As much as I love the rain, I really do think I deserve to see the sun for at least a couple of hours every day. Oh, yeah. This is why we live here. I can almost forget the long, long winter when I remember that even on snowy cold dreary days,

Kid Three: We could cut off his tongue and sell it on eBay. Kid Two: Yeah, just like Vincent van Gogh. Kid One: Vincent van Gogh did NOT sell his tongue on eBay. All those studies that tell about how the formative moments happen around the dinner table? I’m just saying, I hope not.

It’s not writer’s block, exactly, because I don’t actually believe in that. It’s more like apathy. Ack. I can’t write right now because I can’t seem to care right now. This happens occasionally when I do something else besides writing when I wake up. Today it was coercing a dirty kid into the shower and

Remember Mary’s eggs? Well, something got her chickens. When I say something got her chickens, I mean something wandering around town managed to get through fencing, past guard goats and her boxer dogs, and snack on her chickens. All of them. I didn’t ask for any details, and I’m sure my imagination is on overload,