It's funny--at first glance it may look as though my first post was a week ago. But it was over a year ago. A lot happened in that year. I queried. I queried some more. I went to Mexico with my husband to celebrate our 10 year anniversary. I queried some more. Then I revised. I spent two months through a grueling sale process selling a house we lived in many moons ago (when we were young and naive and thought it was a good idea to buy a 100 year old house in law school). (Bad idea.) Then I worked on a couple new books and queried some more. Now here I am. But I haven't disappeared entirely. I've been on Twitter making a little bit of noise. It saddens me to think about my blog disappearing into oblivion like blogs sometimes do. Now I want to wake it up.
And speaking of waking up (and trying not to awkwardly transition to new subject matter)...when I was young, my mom used to barge into my room in the morning singing Cat Stevens' Morning Has Broken. It was her zany, yet gentle way of getting me up for school. It was much better than an alarm clock, and to this day I have fond memories every time I hear that song. My MC, Liza, mentions using the same tactic when waking her aunt. I find myself slipping little pieces of myself into my books--and not on purpose. Little clues of Me just kind of slip into my writing. Is it because writing is easier if we let ourselves into our writing? Is it because it's easier to relate to my MC by endowing her with similar thoughts or memories? Does asking rhetorical questions in my first-blog-post-in-forever (cue Frozen music) okay?
Oooh, I can feel my blog taking a long, deep, two-arm stretch. Its legs were asleep, but now they are all tingly as it starts to move. And ha! My blog has bed head. How embarrassing.