Well, a lot has happened and here we're barely into spring.  But that's the nature of life, isn't it?  It just. . .happens.

This past week my baby sis had a heart attack.  She's going to be fine, is fine now, but, wow, talk about being slapped upside the head by a life event.  I love her so much.  She's the best, the absolute best.  We're not at all alike, poles apart on so many issues, but sisterhood transcends all that "stuff," you know? 

She's my time machine, the last person alive who knows me from almost the very beginning.  What a gift that is.  What a gift she is--she's kind, generous, loving.  I don't know anyone who works harder, who's more honest, who's more responsible.  I've often wondered how I got so lucky, to have a sister such as she.

At any rate, I guess my brain's locked onto the idea that we should make sure each day's emotional bank account is balanced.  That we let people know what they mean to us, that we don't let pettiness become a road block to the reality of a person, of what that person means to us.

Anyway, if you're on the outs with anyone, think about whether or not you can find a way to resolution of the difficulties, a way to let the annoyances and irritations of interaction vanish.  Maybe it's possible, maybe not.  All I know is that when a person's gone, you don't get a chance for a do-over.

Just saying.

It's Sunday, late afternoon in the Chicago 'burbs, and I have both windows of my office open.  Tommy Dooley, the cat with poor bladder control--or should I say, the control's just fine, but he, um, expresses himself through anointing?--anyway, TD is perched on my desk contemplating the glories of a chilly spring day.  Me, too.

The day is my kind of day, really.  Overcast, quiet.  Nice.

I just finished doing a major scrubdown of the porch in order to get ready for an event we call CreativeFest, the brainchild of my author friend, Cathie Linz.  Some of us local authors and some out-of-towner author-friends get together for an intensive re-filling of the vampire-drained spirit.  Since the group's VERY funny and scary smart, there's a lot of laughter and a pretty steady barrage of giggles.  And by Wednesday night, lots of wine!

And those do as much for me as brainstorming an idea or running plot points by my colleague friends.  We do that, too, of course, but it's the "gathering" that does it for me.  An effect similar to the energy-sparking of Chicago North's Spring Fling--I wind up feeling more centered about writing, less angsty, less terrified that someone's going to find out how stupid and untalented and incompetent I really am.

If you're a writer, you know what I'm talking about.  There's always the sense that someone's going to discover the truth, going to find out what an imposter we are.

And if you have no clue what I'm talking about?  Lucky you!

So I'm feeling very creative and orderly here with my plants in place, my porch scrubbed, and things ready--except for the things that aren't! 

Hope you find something to spark your energy, your creativity, too.

And so, as Paul Simon sings, "Baby, I think too much," a quite appropriate song, actually, for writers!, I'm headed to the work computer.

In a state of panic.  Serious panic.  Only a few more chapters in the current WIP to edit and lock in.  I'm so anxious to get this project out that I'm almost sick to my stomach.

You know how it is when you're so close to the finish line?  So close to having something wonderful?  And yet there are still those last 100 yards or 20 feet, or five miles?

That's how I feel.  As though I'm coming home and can't quite slide into home base.

And I sure don't want the umpire yelling "OUT!" before I tag home plate!

Okay.  The plane reservations are made for National Conference, and I'm working on getting this current WIP out of the house before Tuesday, 05/20.  It will feel so good to have it. . . elsewhere, out earning its keep, as it were.  You know how it is--these offspring, whether of our minds or of our bodies, need to cut the apron strings and get out of the house and, yes, earn their keep, an odd, but interesting phrase.

If I sound a bit loopy, I am.  Had a heck of a time with today's NYT crossword puzzle (#0402), one Rex Parker ( www.rexparkerdoesthenyt.com ) deems "easy."  A pox upon 'im, guv!  (One of the words in the puzzle, BTW, and one I got).  So I feel quite stoopid.  I do the puzzles as part of my warm up for writing.  The crosswords access a different part of my brain, and I firmly believe force that sludgy brain of mine into more creative areas.

Anyway, that's my excuse.  And why shouldn't I find a way to re-frame play as work-productive?  Seems perfectly sensible to me.

And that ain't hay!  (Another puzzle answer)

Oh.  How much work did I accomplish today?  Hmmm.  Define "work"?

Wow.   Just locked in the air arrangements for the RWA National Conference.  Jennifer Greene and I are doing a presentation on "Power, Ours, Not Theirs," and I'm very excited about meeting new folks and re-connecting with wonderful writer friends and colleagues.

Jennifer's newest book, Blame It on Paris, is such a charmer.  Well, of course it would be.  She always writes wonderful characters you'd love to spend time with.  And of course it has her signature sexiness!

Anyway, she came up with the idea for the panel, and at first, I thought, what an impossibly difficult topic.  It's been fun, though, thinking about the nature of power, of what we can or can't control and how it makes us feel.  I think, too, of the power dynamic in family relationships between parents and children, between parters, within friendship circles.

It's an intriguing topic, and I can't wait to hear what she's going to say!  (And to figure out exactly what my thoughts are!)

By the way, if you have any thoughts on power, power of any kind, but especially power in relationship to your writing, feel free to weight in here--and I'll quote you at National if you permit.

Well, what a wonderful Conference I went to a week ago!  Chicago North's Spring Fling was fantastic.  The incredible Debbie Macomber and incomparable Eloisa James were there as was that bundle of energy, Christie Ridgway.  A number of agents and editors were there accepting pitches.

So. . . what I neglected to say in yesterday's post was that I, umm, I, well, I finally bit the bullet and sent some of the current WIP out.

Was I scared?  Oooh, boy, yessirree.

But the writerly life requires taking a leap of faith and jumping.  Just. . . jumping into the unknown.

Cross fingers, toes, eyes--hey, anything you can cross and wish me luck and continued confidence, will you?  Yikes.