Archives for July 2012


As you may have guessed from the pain the Muse experienced on Sunday, I’ve been working on the ending for my current book. You wouldn’t think the end would be a problem in a romance novel. After all, in a romance the man and the woman get together. Period. And yes, that’s the case. But the question is how they get together.  (I don’t mean it that way.  Get your minds out of the gutter.  LOL)

In most books, the world falls apart and is remade again, or the world falls apart and isn’t remade. But almost all the time, the world has to fall apart.

The Muse Gives Birth

*pant pant pant* OWWWWW! *pant pant pant*

Muse! Muse! *Betsy runs into the post* I have your ice chips. *offers cup*

Take your ice chips and put ’em where the sun don’t shine! *pant pant pant*

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The contractions are getting closer, aren’t they?

What the hell do you think?

Okay. *Betsy scuttles around like a crab* I need…I need to get my laptop set up.

You’d better get your laptop set up, because this ending scene is coming, and it’s coming fast. OWWWWWW!!


I hate – absolutely HATE – when I know what I want to do, I know what I need to do, I even know HOW to go about doing what I want and need to do, and yet…and yet…I don’t do it.

For example.

I know that I need to eat better. I know that I want to eat better. I know how to go about it. I know what I need to eat – and not eat – to manage my diabetes. I was DOING it. And then, suddenly, I stopped. I can blame the nuts. I can blame the sugar. I can blame the fact that I’m a compulsive overeater. But the fact is, I stopped and “suddenly” the whole eating thing is getting out of control again.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings


I really love this poem.  Let’s just say that it resonates with me on a whole lot of levels.  So, because I have failed to prepare a blog post for this evening, I invite you to enjoy “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” by the incandescent Maya Angelou.  And as we move into the Fourth of July holiday, may we all find, and appreciate, our freedom.


I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

by Maya Angelou


What Else Would I Do?

Sometimes I wonder why I write. Usually I wonder after I’ve spent several hours at my desk and can hardly move when I get up. Or when my arms ache so much from working on the computer that I just want to cry.

Why am I writing? Will I still do it if I never sell another book? Will I still do it if I never break through? If I never reach beyond a certain level in my career? If nobody else ever knows about my books? If I never make another dime? Will I still write?