You...

asked me how the novel was going.

I toyed with sending various responses, including:

"I can write you SO much better than you actually are."

"Fabulously! It's 5 AM and here I am, still at it..."

"Too slow. Never enough time."

"It's going. I miss you."

"You are infinitely less annoying in the book than you are in real life--three cheers for artistic license!"

"Didn't I ask you nicely to stop contacting me?"

"You'll really regret your stupidity when I'm a famous writer."

But I finally settled on this: "Every time I remember meeting my muse, I smile a smile that is completely unique to that memory, and I'm flooded with inspiration again. I have to write this book so it can do to others what my muse's work has done to me."

Diplomatic and truthful, saying so much without really saying much at all.

In case you're wondering, the person who sent me the letter is not my muse--but he knows who is.

Progress feels wonderful!

I wrote three chapters tonight.

There wasn't any big epiphany or anything. I just, like, wandered over to the computer, sat down Indian-style on my chair, and brought up the file. Started to write.

The chapters were not lengthy, but they were also not easy. To some degree, each one is a little sliver of a certain type of heartbreak.

Ironically, I'm convinced the reason I was able to write--and write without even a shred of my usual writer's mania in me--is because I'm presently very, very happy. I'm nervous because I want this happiness to stick with me for a long, long time. I hope it will, feel like it will, but--of course--am mildly terrified that it won't.

I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter, that I don't need anyone else to make me happy, but I have to admit, this is the first time in a long time that I've felt this amazing, and I don't think it's a coincidence that I was able to write so fluidly. My head is in the right place. And may this be just the beginning...

I know I'm getting serious...

...because I bought writer food tonight.

And for me, "writer food" is always really kind of bizarre. or, at the very least, the combination of said items is bizarre.

Blueberry juice.

Watermelon juice.

Alcohol.

Fudge Stripes cookies.

Microwaveable sweet potatoes.

A honkin' slab of carrot cake.

Fondue cheese.

Yeah, I'm a weirdo.

But it's a good thing, because if I were normal, I'd kind of be a really sucky writer. ;)

A little step in the right direction.

So on Friday, I met an author--an actual published author--who has offered to send my finished book to her agent.

After I pretty much picked myself up off the floor after hearing that, I decided I'd really better get crackin' on this whole writing thing. I wanted motivation, and now I have motivation.

Stay tuned...

I always said...

...that someday, an album--one that I'd listened to before, but had never really felt anything for--would hit me. I didn't know when, but I knew that it would.

Tonight is that "when."

There's a song on there that reminds me of Riley, of things that he will be thinking and doing toward the end of the book.

There are a couple songs there that remind me of Sasha.

All of these songs are gorgeous, just fucking gorgeous.

I wish it hadn't taken me so long to discover the absolute freakin' majesty of this album...regardless, I'm glad I finally did discover it.

Right here, right now, with a writing blitz ahead of me in the next few days, this album feels like the absolute perfect companion.

Discoveries.

I've been off on a few...adventures...lately.

Sometimes, in trying to find out who you are, or who your character is, you must first find out what you and she are not.

There is a characteristic that my main character and I have in common, and I now know a few things that she and I are not. Which means I'm just a few steps closer to finding out exactly what we are. (And for the record, those "are nots"? I'm glad for them. Really, really glad.)

My writing starts again, full-force, at the beginning of November...

Onward and upward!

In awe.

I met my muse the other night.

The person whose writing has inspired countless brainstorms, manic episodes, epiphanies, and story fragments.

He shook my hand. Signed an autograph. Smiled at me. Waved at me.

And I told him "thank you."

It was the most sincere and true thing I could have told him.

And I owe him a fucking lot of thanks.

Hopefully this will be the creative kick in the ass that I need to get goin' again with this story...