Okay, first real post. What is there to say? This is the life of the writer. Times when the words just spurt out all over the page and then times when it just isn't there. So maybe I should say something about this love-hate relationship. And maybe I shouldn't call it "hate" since "hate" is such a strong emotion. Maybe I should just call it a "Love-Frustration Relationship."

Why do I write? Well, if there was something else as fulfilling and that drove me out of my bed in the middle of the night, searching for my eyeglasses I would do it. Believe me I would. If quilting or painting or tennis made me feel as wild in the head as writing does, I'd do it. Heck, it's a lot easier than this. But truth is, there isn't anything else that drives me like writing does. Alex Haley said that during the times when he was writing he was in love and there was no other place he wanted to be. I mention that often because that's exactly how I feel. Everything is blocked from my mind when I'm writing. Everything. Nothing matters when I creep into the world of my charachters and I'm listening to them and following them and watching what's going to happen next. That's when it's Love.

But then there's the other side. The hate...oops!...frustration. Frustration when I have to go to work....have to cook, wash dishes, clean, bathe and feed some little invader in my house....things like that. Frustration over the realization that I cannot (yet) quit the day job 'cos there's two little people who'll need a college education down the road, a retirement to save for, a mortgage to pay, you know ... life. Frustration when I've been waiting all week for this one charachter to say something and the son of a gun doesn't show up until I'm sitting at the freakin' stop light and can't get to my pen 'cos there's some ass behind me just waitin for the light to turn green so he can blow his horn and doesn't realize that I've got a novel going on here and I've been waitin and waitin and now the charachter is here and I really, really have to write this down before the son of a gun leaves again .......FRUSTRATION.

But this is the life of the writer. And so I live with it.

Today, didn't put pen to paper. Had two weeks worth of laundry to do and a desk to clean up and a whole lot of other stuff. But good. It's six thirty or so on the east coast, the lakers are on (who care's right? we all know they're gonna win again) and I'm gonna put on a pot of coffee later and get to work.

The life of the writer.