blog

I have no idea how I get myself into these messes, I say to myself, punching my bed pillow as my Catholic guilt gnaws at me. I think of something my writing teacher, the late great Frank McCourt once said when asked what he thought about Catholicism. He paused, looked at the interviewer and answered with his cute smirk, “I’ve forgiven them.”

As I lay/laid (who cares) my head down on my pillow, exhausted from chasing my one-year-old grandson around for almost 8 hours, I listened to my husband snoring and wondered how he could sleep after “the incident” earlier that day. How could I have allowed it to happen? Did I think that because he is…

I’ve recently completed two novels that I’ve had a love/hate relationship with over the past ten years, which hopefully will debut sometime in the fall. Writing has caused me to become a chronic insomniac. It is a grueling job that is NEVER done…I wake up to it and go to sleep with it…one character or another pokes me in the ribs and causes me to toss and turn. The antagonist, with Thesaurus in hand, whispers in my ear during REM – “Wake up! You’ve got to change that word in your opening scene – chapter seven, 3rd line down. The protagonist is in my other ear. ”No, don’t listen to her! She’s nothing but trouble.”
(Lately, my characters are becoming way too real; they’re always in my face.)