Okay, I confess. I’ve been dithering for the better part of a week tying to think of something to say that will be sparkling and entertaining and interesting. No pressure there *g*.

Some people tell me to write about what’s going on in my life. Hmm. It just isn’t glamorous to say that I’m behind on my laundry, my house is a tad messier than I’d like it to be, my daughter has more homework than I think is age appropriate and my poor husband is stressed with his job. So I’m supposed to find some way to catch up, clean up, play tutor and confidante while starting in my sexiest book yet in the middle of insomnia and babysitting an 8 month old for a friend from 5 to 7 in the morning. Isn’t the image of the writer who has hunks fanning her with palm fronds while effortlessly brilliant words fall from her fingertips to the computer screen much more exciting? Yes. Sorry to disappoint you all. I’ve spent days trying to get back on top of everything so I can get to (hopefully) that effortless brilliance, though some days coherent is about as good as it gets. And the hunks fanning me with palm fronds…not gonna happen. Seriously, there’s just not enough hours in the day…though I have to confess that I did take time to watch Survivor: Guatemala last night. A girl’s gotta have some fun.

Other people tell me to blog about my characters and what they’re doing. Well, they seem to be as dazed as I am at the moment, so I’m sure I’m reflecting on them. No reason that a hunk like Jack and a woman as curious as Morgan should look at each other and think now what? Duh, you two! I try not to let my state bleed into my characters, but sometimes it happens. To compound matters, two characters from STRIP SEARCH have been tugging on me, him in particular. They started this sort of growling flirtation…with a tender moment or two along the way. Now, I’m hearing things like “You’re just going to leave us like this???” Until January, yes. You can’t explain to entities in your head that the sooner they shut up, the sooner you can finish what’s currently on your plate, and the sooner you can get them their own story. Gosh, that sounds schizoid. But I’ve said for a long time that fiction writing is the only occupation where you can openly discuss the voices in your head and not be mistaken for someone who needs padded rooms and major sedation *g*.

I’ve rambled enough and can’t think of any other way to avoid having to reacquaint Jack and Morgan with the birds and the bees so they’ll get on with it. For now, I’ll push aside the laundry, hope that Friday is better on the rest of my family, resolve to sleep in tomorrow now that my babysitting gig is at an end. If you all prefer the glamorous image, feel free to insert hunks with palm fronds. I really don’t mind. Um, can you make them shirtless, please?