bad pixie.

Um, so I guess I've been kind of out of commission.

Or something.

I could make up excuses...like, ...I live in Oklahoma -- you know, the place where they had the big ice storm? Yeah, and we were out of our house for nine days while we waited for our electricity to come back on! Talk about throwing things off, and all right before the holidays. This, while an entirely true statement, does not justify my absence from the literary world.

Perhaps the mad search for an improvement in my husband's employment [see: "finding a new job where he will be appreciated for keeping the world running 24/7"] has gotten me all wound up. This, indeed, requires an immense amount of time, energy, and -- is frustration a requirement? But now, he's landed a SysAdmin position with government benefits and 50% better pay. Scratch that excuse.

Dealing with middle school miscreants tends to take a lot out of you, too, especially when you have to watch your firstborn suffer at their hands. And words. I seriously cannot believe the kind of refuse that comes flying out of these little brats' mouths. It's quite an experience, mustering the composure to not shove a bar of soap down a 13 year old stranger's throat while slapping them silly. When the time comes, I've - perhaps unfortunately - compiled a wealth of informative material for a gritty real life YA novel.

How about this: I've felt a little [completely] overwhelmed [lately](?) At some point, I started feeling a little irrational, which, in a way, rationalizes my subsequent irrationality. Just a vicious cycle, you see.

Overwhelming: when you set out with a particular project with a clear path in mind, and then you are told that, while this path is fantastic, why not extend your road, oh, about eight times beyond your original plan? F it, why not just make it a highway? Interstate, you say? Great! Don't worry, we'll wait.

Which is wonderful, and very encouraging. Don't get me wrong, I'm all over it. Just let me think...

Maybe it's my parenting style that's partially to blame. I'm very hands on, involved, and attached (some of you will be familiar with what I'm talking about..the others, just go with it). This requires sleep.

Writers aren't supposed to sleep. Much.

And once I get going, it's especially difficult for me to stop - so I end up staying awake until four hours before I'm supposed to get up with the kids. Not good. At least not when they're 1 1/2, 3 1/2, and 12.

But this is all just rambling excuses. I created under the same circumstances over the past year, and I ought to be capable of doing it now. So I'll just shut up and stop whining.

I can warm up with the smaller projects, work in short bursts until I experience that gigantic saltwater wave of inspiration.

They say you can't drown on purpose.