Spring can't seem to make up its mind. Sunny and beautiful. Raining and cold. Ahhh, Alabama in March. You're killing me.
I want to say something really profound about life and seasons and some such. But I've got nothing....
What I do have is a burning desire to start writing again. Facebook is like the stick in my bike spokes though. Why does it tempt and taunt me so? I feel like the rat in the experiment that keeps running to the sugar water instead of doing whatever it was supposed to be doing. ... that was very un-specific example. Sorry.
Even now I am tempted to check social media. I'm tempted to delete it all, but I've been advised to "build my platform". Ugh. That sounds pretentious. I have a Twitter account now, just for the Writer-me, not the normal-me. And someone liked my first tweet. That was really cool.
Anne Rice said, "To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself." I feel ya, sister.
So keep an eye out; I'm almost finished with a collection of short stories, which includes my first ever not-happy ending. It was exhausting to write and yet, very freeing. I've also got another novel started. Cross your fingers.