Mois : septembre 2022

This very morning, I started the new fantasy novel for an MG writing project, while keeping on re-writing the YA.

(By the way, what’s your take on YA these days? I look at all the new novels coming out this fall and I must admit, many titles seem so deja-vu, that I’m not even tempted to pick them up. Please, don’t tell me that’s because I’m getting old!!!)

It has been a while since I looked this hard and this long at a blank page !!!

Words came. Words were erased. Again and again. Until I gave up and went back to a 5-year-old draft, from which I stole just enough words to get me started.

I’ve been in revision mode for so long, maybe that’s why I couldn’t come up with a decent sentence?

Clearly, starting a new writing project will be beneficial, if only for my imagination!

And speaking of which, I better get back to it!

Take good care of yourself and may all the good words flow your way!

Yep.

Busy week.

Heck, very busy month.

Autumn is like that in our wonderful, blessed family.

Many birthdays to celebrate, and since we share Catholic and Jewish culture, traditions and heritage, there are many family reunions to plan.

Welcome, mama’s mental load!

Writing time becomes somewhat more precious since I have to take sleeping breaks between 4:30am writing session.

Speaking of which, it’s late already and I have to wake up before dawn.

Wishing you all the good words, fellow writers. Thanks for being here!

Kiddo was asleep when I came home today.

For the third time in five years, I wasn’t there for the good night kiss.

To every person who went:
GEEZ??!
or
WHAT!?!
or
I’ve met some crazy mother hens, but, really ?!?! third time in Five Years ?!?

To every one of you, I will say this: I know. You’re right.

It’s a bit on the intense side of parenting things. IknowIknowIknow.

More so because, tonight, I got to sit on the smallest chairs in the room, like other parents, to listen to the kiddo’s « K » teacher.

I mean, those people have lives and all! Doing this, playing that sport, going through that, wanting to volunteer or get involved in the school stuff.

While my humble little person just wanna go home to put a pj’s on, get a fluffy fuzzy perfectly soft blanket at the ready, get cozy and write.

We, writers of novels, and short stories.
We, poets and essayists.

Are we simply slightly odd in our own charming way?

Or are we full-on odd in our own a bit tat weird way?

My heart cannot find rest between the two.

There I feel at home.

Not here, nor there.
Not that kind of human, nor this sort of person.
Just balancing in between every moment, every new encounter.

Taking notes.

Very dear, very wonderful fellow writers, until next time, take care of yourselves!