One of the boxes must have my stories in it...

Not the printed ones... the ones that usually play through my head.

We've been moving into our new house. For the last week and a half, I have spent nearly every waking minute working on and moving into the house. And it feels like it'll never get done.

Luckily, I'm so busy that there are only a few minutes to even miss writing. I miss crafting stories and polishing up snappy dialogue for maximum bite. I miss finishing a story and feeling all the little peacock feathers fan out in appreciation of my own genius.

I can't even get into the room that is designated my office. Since it's not "important" to the running of the house, it is last on the list of the places to deal with. (This is my determination, not Hubby's.)

I think somewhere, in the piles of boxes that contain my office things, is my writing. My story telling ability. My mind has been strangely quiet as we've embarked on our journey into indentured servitude home ownership. No snippets of stories or great ideas have nudged my cerebral cortex while I've worked on washing dishes, painting, or hanging up curtains.

But, after all this time, I think we're finally getting to the end. Soon, things should be much quieter in life. And hopefully much noisier in my brain.

I like being crazy... the people in my head keep my company.

The Story of A House

Once upon a time... or about last year, we saw a house. Hubby and I had been househunting for a while by that point. All we'd found so far was that we didn't make enough money to live in Livingston County. Unless we went all the way to the boonies. At the time, for those with short memories, gas was already over three bucks a gallon. We wanted to live close to work and put our money towards a home and life. Plus, we prefer to spend our time together/ at home rather than driving around.

About a year ago, we spotted a house outside town that was for sale. Wonderful house, great location. It had all the features we wanted in a house, a layout we liked, great size for the family we one day hope to have. Even a two car garage so my car can come in out of the cold. But our wallet was three sizes too small. We kept looking. It was hard, though, because every house was compared to this one, unattainable dream house. And none could stand up to the comparison.

Then, sometime late in spring, we drove by the house again and noticed, oddly that the grass was about eye-ball high. When we'd seen this house before, it was rather well maintained. We soon confirmed that the house had gone into foreclosure. But that meant that when it came back on the market (as a bank-owned property) that it might, just might, be within our meager price range.

Time passed. The required waiting period ended, but the house was not for sale. We waffled. We had continued looking, but the pickings had become slim in the area. The tide of foreclosures had dwindled, leaving mainly super-expensive houses, site condos, or "handyman special."

Then, THE house came back on the market. With an incredible price. We rushed to make an offer. Then waited. The offer was verbally accepted and then the paperwork began. Back and forth. Then we went to the bank to beg for money. More paperwork. A flurry of emails, nearly daily, to make sure all the little ducks lined up. Anxiety. Doubt. Excitement.

And then, on top of all this house-buying stuff, I had a large final project for my grad school course and my normal teaching duties. Somehow, there was barely time to eat, sleep, and play with Hubby. Hence my absence from blogging and writing.

Now, it's all over. My grad school course is finished. School is out for Christmas Break.

But, best of all, we have our dream house. This is the best Christmas gift... ever.

Hey, look! It's a story!

It's been a long long time, but finally there's another new Bo Fexler story out. Yellow Mama's latest issue includes "Mighty Maids Mystery."

A maid is found dead in one of the houses she's cleaning. Can Bo figure out who did it? Well, of course. It's more a matter of how she finds out and who's behind it.

I miss Bo as much as the rest of you. She's been out on hiatus for a while. I'm hoping she'll be back for Christmas. Bo in a Santa hat... now there's something to find under the tree. ;-)

State of Publishing is No Match for Ego

So there's all this bad news in the publishing world. Yeah, yeah, and you can't find a single job in Michigan either.

Generalizations are always false.

Just as there are still want ads long unfulfilled in Michigan, there are still agents and editors looking for the next great book that will make them money. That is what writing is ultimately about for publishers-- money.

So, with my ego still alive and strong (it's the rest of my brain that took a beating these last two weeks) I'm still fairly confident that my novel, my characters, and my writing are good enough to overcome the 'difficulties' of the current state of publishing. I have something different but still marketable... at least if my fans are any indication. I will find an agent and a publisher who likewise sees what I see in Bo Fexler-- fun stories with a strong, sexy, unashamed female protagonist.

On an unrelated note, ever notice that there's a fine line between dreams and delusions. =)

My Muse

My muse has a sense of humor. Often, when my schedule is wide open, with no obligations, she takes time off. And if she knows that day without obligations is a day when Hubby will be gone all day, she's even lazier.

But when I'm shorting sleep, trying to cram in several different projects and personal commitments, she shows up with this really great idea. Something to do with Bo. And strip poker.

Stupid muse.

And we won't talk about how she loves to give me ideas as I'm drifting off to sleep, warm and snuggled up with already-sleeping Hubby (who gets up at dark o'clock).

I'd hate her, but she does have such good ideas.

I've been trying to bargain with her lately. If she'll give me fragments of ideas when I'm busy, then it gives me something to mull over while I drive to work. Then, when I have lots of time, like some Saturday, she can just nudge the idea along instead of doing real work.

Does your muse behave? Or does she mock you like mine mocks me?