So for the past two nights I’ve had dreams that I was pregnant.  Don’t think that’s very likely so I got thinking why I would be dreaming this.  Could be friends who are likely to be pregnant, or could be because I am starting a new book, and in many ways writing a book is like being pregnant and giving birth.

You start thinking about getting pregnant (writing the book) then you find out you ARE pregnant, (you’ve got a rough draft) then you spend nine months carrying it, (revising and editing) then you give birth.  (It’s published and goes out in the world)

Soooo…I’ve given birth to one, and I’m about to be pregnant with the second.  Works for me.  Can I say I’m eating for two???

What’s your day job?


So I was thinking about the hundreds and thousands (millions?) of authors out there who have to go to work every day because writing doesn’t pay the bills.  Or hasn’t yet.  I teach,  and for those of you who do, you know the state of your grey matter after 3:30 p.m.  It’s all I can do to manage to throw something together for dinner, much less fire up my cells past 8 o’clock.   So not much gets done until breaks.  Of which there are a few, but the main summer break is being eroded by professional development as I speak.

I am so jealous of those who don’t have to do a damn thing but get up and write.  I get to pretend for a month or so, but it’s not the same.

April is the cruelest month…


No, it’s not April yet, but it is coming quickly.  I’ve always hated April, almost as much as August.  Must be the “A” months.  No, it’s probably more to do with being in education all my life, on one side of the desk or another, and April means that everything is coming to an end.  And must be finished.

Plus, pollen happens in April.  And my allergies go on strike.

Bring on May flowers.