It was a relaxing Saturday morning. She was soothed and inspired by the house sounds- the whir of the ceiling fan, the air conditioner cranking up, the dog’s constant licking. And yet, the absence of sounds from the television and/or stereo did not go unnoticed. Her thoughts started out on their random parade. What was she going to do today? What would she read after she finishes the fantasy book later today? Will she get any writing done?
Ahh, writing. It always came back to …

 The ideas come in waves because she is busy doing other stuff.  She is much smarter about the process now, so she keeps her notebook and pen nearby so that she can jot things down. 
She uses complete sentences when recording her thoughts.  The  single words and phrases are no longer triggering her aging memory properly. 
She can’t believe that the ideas come so vividly. She wonders why this does not happen when she is sitting in front of her computer with time uninterrupted.  
She won’t look a gift horse in the …

She knew that all the thinking about writing wasn’t actually writing.  She wanted to devote uninterrupted hours to her writing, but the week behind her, as well as the week ahead, simply would not allow it.  She had parenting, relationshiping, and work to contend with (not necessarily in that order).  But soon, things would slow down.  She would have the luxury of early morning writing on the porch before the sun began to heat the humid air, making it hard to breathe while getting burned to a crisp. Her family …

Publishing short stories.  
That’s it.  
Nothing nefarious or clandestine.  
My pledge to the reader:
I will offer  funny, interesting, heart wrenching short stories that entertain and keep the reader coming back for more.
I will ensure that these stories are appropriately edited and readable.  (I feel your pain, Nardsbaby!).
I will provide fantastic service from the consumer’s point of view.  
More breaking news as things develop.

She sat at her desk listening to the owl hoot.  It was pretty strange considering it was 5:05 in the evening.  She wondered if the gray days had the poor thing a little confused.  And then she wondered where he was.  Was he sitting on the fence separating her yard from her neighbor’s, or was he up in the tree on a low hanging branch? The thought of going out to look for him suddenly felt like a brilliant idea. But, then what?  Tell him that it was too early …

She fancied herself a writer, but she found that she had not engaged in “writer-like” behavior in weeks. You know, actually writing.  And it wasn’t because she didn’t have the tools or the space.  She had all the trappings:  the sexy and sleek computer, the roomy L-shaped glass desk that she had coveted for months before finally purchasing, the leather executive chair that embraced her like an old love when she sat down, Moleskine notebooks, great gel pens, and much, much more.  But this stuff did not do the writing …

For some, starting the week off with a rainy day is a recipe for the blahs.  Not me.  I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the rain.  
Living in the south, we have lots of  sunny days. I usually  feel like I have to be out and about and productive.  At some point in the day.  It is just required that I leave my house.
Not so on rainy days.  I feel like I can relax into the day.  Do what I have to at a slower pace.  
It’s probably because I’m the Master …

I’ve got a new project underway.  As a matter of fact, I’ve got several irons in the fire.  Which can be a problem.  Means I tend to bounce around like the ball in a pinball machine (remember those?). 
My goal is to finish project one by the end of the month. 
And post on DFB, of course.
Anyway, the writing is coming after the bill paying gig and the parenting gig.  And the house painting.  And the soon to be packing for moving day in less than four weeks. But it’s getting done- …

No clever titles today. Some things just are what they are.
I have spent the last three days painting.  If you are not talking or singing, you have plenty of time for ruminating.  
Today, I was just getting tired of the act of painting.  I was not in the greatest of moods.  I just wanted to be done.  To distract myself, I tried thinking about all the writing that I wasn’t getting done and how I’m stuck on my novel and don’t know how to move it forward.  Which only made …

Apparently, that is exactly what I am.  
Seems some guy out there has been using his smart phone to write books.  In fact, he wrote large portions of his latest novel while on the train commuting back and forth to work.
And here I thought my Blackberry was for checking email, reading blogs in Viigo, texting The Man, playing on Facebook, and using Twitter to bore the world with my comings and goings.
Does that mean that I should be thumbing my books on my Blackberry in order to be more productive?
I’ll …