Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

  “No!” I screamed. “You can’t do this to me! I’ve won two RITAs and a RoNA. Writers don’t nosedive like this. A writer has to have some horribly bad books under their belts before they shrivel up to die.” After which I took a break. I took several breaks as needed each time coming back to my novel with more determination than before yet failing with each new attempt. After a long tiring day and a brief cry I went to bed hoping my house guests could find a way to help me as I was attempting to help them. I woke on Saturday morning feeling tired and stiff. I put off getting out of bed as long as I possibly could. I showered and brushed my teeth hating myself, switching to words of praise and encouragement for following through with a good stretch work out. I tidied the house up after breakfast, going to work in the kitchen immediately after eating.  I went through the cabinets first, verifying plenty of drinks and snacks were available. I put a batch of loaded baked p

“Get in. Get in. Get in!” A deep voice demanded. I screamed as I was being pulled inside, fighting whoever this stranger was. I was not going anywhere with him. I clobbered him across the jaw with the mug in my hand. It did little to help. The man growled and yanked me through the door, slamming it closed behind him. Losing my footing, I landed on the floor. As soon as I got my bearings I began sliding away from the stranger by scooting along the floor on my behind. He was tall. Above average in height and well built. I wouldn't be able to get the upper hand without a weapon. The man stood with his hands pressed on the back of a dining chair, he was breathing heavily. “There was a bear.” He pointed in the general direction of the trash cans, “A bear. Outside. Bears can be dangerous. It’s okay now. We’re in here. It’s out there.” “We are.” I said. Standing, I took several steps back. I reached into the pockets of my coat. My right hand found my cell phone. I

  Once the book tour was over, I went home and fell into bed sleeping for what felt like an entire weekend. On the third day I woke up determined to let go of what happened at The Naked Ankle. I always experience a period of readjustment after a book tour. Days seem to stretch out in front of me with few demands on my time when the week before time spent taking a shower or waiting for a car to arrive felt like a vacation. I usually spend the days leading up to the Christmas holiday shopping, resting, and enjoying the holiday activities around me. I also use that time to begin mapping out my new characters and the basic plot line for the next Book Boyfriend Holiday Romance. It’s not only a great way to get back to a gentler routine it also gives me a place to start from in January when drafting the next book takes center stage. All writers have their own way of working. Their own rituals or traditions. For me it begins with cooking a meal on December 1st. The brunch

Our arrival at the food pantry and the book fair could not have been more perfect. Many children had already chosen their books. They were finding mischief and distracting their parents as the adults perused through the tables in the section marked: Grown-ups. Taking inventory of the situation, I noticed game and coloring tables were still being set up as well as the cookie decorating stations. Handing my bags to Lisa stepped on to the circular rug in the center of the room with my elephant friend in hand. “Good afternoon. Welcome to the Night Before Christmas book fair. How is everyone today?” I asked. Some of the adults in the back smiled as they recognized me. Most of the children stared at me with a blank expression. I focused on them. “It’s a lovely autumn day, school is out for Thanksgiving, and there’s lots for everyone to do here. You can do better than that.” I smiled at them. “Who has a book today?” A young girl, smallish, Jess guessed she was around six

“What inspired you to become a writer? What lead you to write that first book?”The interviewer asked smiling for the camera. “ A Christmas wish.” I responded. “A Christmas wish unfulfilled. The story is too long to tell. We’re running out of time but the truth is love has always eluded me. When I was younger, I had a special tradition. One I started just for me. Every year at the beginning of the holiday season I would make a Christmas wish to meet my special someone. That was the only gift I asked for, the only thing I wanted. Some Christmases were spent out mingling. Others I sat in my living room in my sparkly dress, with my manicured nails and flattering hairstyle only to kick off my shoes by 8 pm and stretch out on the couch with a favorite movie. Some Christmases were spent in jeans and a sweatshirt. A couple were spent in stained pajamas with a box of fudge for company. I had tried everything. After spending years being available. Of not being too available. O

Writer Lady taps on her keyboard without actually typing a single word. Turning her head, she watches as Carp and Tinkletoes chase Furnatche through the living room. The baby dragon scampers across the floor with one of Carp’s arm guards clenched between his teeth. She turns back to the email in front of her, then back to the people and animals in her living room. Tinkletoes chases Furnatche playfully, gently relieving the dragon of the arm guard and returning it to Carp. Writer Lady turns back to her computer, not before Tinkletoes sees her watching them. The two men stop on their way past the entrance to High Command. “Hey.” Tinkletoes says. “Hey.” Writer Lady responds. “Are you needin’ something?” He asks. “No, um...yes. Not really.” “So which is it?” “I don’t need anything. I got this email from the editor Carp connected me with. I want ed to ask Carp a question.” The retired romance novelist/assassin-in-training steps forward. “What do you

Writer Lady looks in the hallway. “Oh.” After a moment of silence she turns back to her white board. “I need more space for Faerie.” Erasing the remaining area allotted for the Nana problem, she delegates a tiny corner of the area for Nana and returns to her brainstorming. “This needs color coding.” Nana Dupree looks at the man standing in front of her. Tall and on the muscular side, the man from the Bible study fiasco has returned to the scene of the crime. His dark blue jeans and freshly laundered button shirt having been replaced with a khaki t shirt and an odd mix of cammos. It reminds her of an overzealous toddler who decides he wants to be in every branch of the military at the same time for career day at preschool. She supposes it could be worse at least his boots were matching. “May I help you?” she asks. “I kinda wanted to have a word with ya and the kid at the front desk said I could find you in here. I was here you know...earlier.” “I may be g