Okay..it's official..we are slackers. But in defense of the other parts of The Brain— they've been really, really busy. Poor Jean has her eye stuff and mega-parties to host. Heidi is under the gun to finish her next book (Don't forget, Freeze Frame comes out this October—woohoo, Heidi! Christine (poor girl) is in the middle of a move with a toddler in tow, Mandy and and Trish have JOBS. So what's MY excuse, the lazy crazy professor of the Brain. Nada...I'm lolling round in our summer getaway, writing, writing, writing, chaffeuring my son from internship to girlfriend, girlfriend to internship. I'm logging miles and with gas at 4.20 a gallon, maxing out the old credit card. My daughter is still at sleep away camp.

But other than that...I have plenty of time..SO..hi! Everyone I know online now has a website or blog. This is mine...I figured, why not visit the poor neglected thing. Dust off the cobwebs on behalf of my busy colleegues and bring this thing back to life.

Well..there you have it. While another of my critmates from my other writing group, The Cudas, has landed an agent, (bringing the total from that group to four out of six) I am still without. I'm currently waiting on two requested fulls and the revised ms submitted to the Uber agent who ALMOST loved me. I'm still waiting to see if she loves me this time, or thinks I'm a lost cause. We'll see.

Meanwhile, the first draft of my WIP, Afterside is almost complete. I'm excited because it's garnered a lot of excitement from people who've read it so far. SO maybe, maybe if novel #2 goes down, three's the charm? I sure hope so. I'm getting old here and have been a bridesmaid at too many happy affairs, so to speak.

The Oak Grove of My Mind

Well, I've been frantically re-imagining my second novel with more Druids and a less convoluted plot in hopes that the agent who loved/hated it might give it a second chance. I worked like my fingers were on fire through the month of January, while on winter recess from my professor job. Now, it's back to work and I understand a bit how Trish feels. Of course, my life is much easier than hers! I don' have a nine-five job, but time is much scarcer and once you lose that momentum, it's so much harder to pick up the threads and keep weaving.

I'm grateful I made so much progress in January. I'm far from done, but considering that at the beginning of the month, I no idea whatsoever to do to help my poor ms, I feel very inspired and positive I am on the right track.

I will confess something about myself. I am a compulsive writer. If I didn't HAVE to have a life, ie: feed the kids, go to work, socialize (reluctantly and under threat) I'd just sit at this computer and write all day, preferably on a nice sunny porch with the leaves rustling. I think, the privilege of having that life some day, is what motivates me more than anything. Not fame, not money, not even the idea that people will read what I do, but the thought that it's okay to write 24/7.

Yes, my fellow Brains already know I am this kind of a nut. It's probably because I'm a late-bloomer when it comes to writing and now I write the way I used to do art. Obsessively and compulsively. Hey, it beats, drugs, gambling, smoking or alcohol, right? (I typed, write, btw, and had to correct myself)

Writer Neurosis 101

To write, I have to have an enormous ego to think that somebody ought to read my work, ideas, and the worlds I create. (Especially 300+ pages!) At the same time, I'm pretty doggoned needy, always wanting that reassuring pat on the shoulder and good review. It's like being back in 7th grade at a school dance and wanting John to ask me to dance but he won't so instead of acting like a normal girl, I go and push him into the bleachers. This, of course, is an example. It's not necessarily what actually happened no matter what John and the restraining order says.
Regardless of my clumsy past with school dances, this odd combo of ego+insecurity has made me neurotic -- to a degree.
But, no, I don't have any funky writer superstitions like Charles Dickens setting his bed to face north/south and touching objects three times for good luck. Or John Cheever working in his underwear, wearing his only suit just to get to work and back home. The only thing I DON'T do is tell somebody about a story brewing in my head. I think I'm afraid that once I speak it, it'll disappear -- like Tarzan's great pickup line. So I wait. I let it brew. Then I write, write, write. And when I have something down, I'll only share it with a very select group of people that I know will lock this story away until I say it's okay to let it open.
So .. maybe that IS a little superstitious. But it's not OCD superstitious ... yet. Perhaps in a few years I'll have accrued a few more neurotic writer things. Perhaps.

Heidi Ayarbe