March on

March! Welcome!! Don't just stand there, come in, settle in, please!!! What's your poison? As lovely as a real winter, a white one, has been (minus the snow removal, the toil of Sisyphus, Sisyphus!, oh March, deliver me) my mind has been reaching for spring for a while now. My feet and hips, too. They've come to the consensus it's time. It's all carnival's fault, listening to the rhythms, looking at pictures my baby sis posts, doing the samba no pé amid daily chores. There's a drastic discrepancy between inner and outer scenery.

Incidentally, or not, I've been writing very disparate things, fluctuating between genres and languages and moods, and it hasn't even been that hard a task. Actually, it's been exhilarating; as it usually is when you find balance and things come together as you wish they would. Or maybe I just had some pent-up writing oomph to release after last week's winter break, the kids at home, lots of wintry outdoorsy activities going on (e.g. aforementioned Sisyphean snow removal) and not enough time to write all I wanted and needed to put down in words.

Well, as the Beatles used to sing, words are now flowing out like endless rain, and as any writer knows and will tell you, that's a happy place to be. I bet I just jinxed it by saying it out loud, but the Universe will have to get really creative to wipe out the wonder that was yesterday, a particularly productive day. Today wasn't half bad, either. I'm sorry to say not all that got written will end up in Dita's books but happy to report a considerable proportion of it will, so I hope D is happy and forgives me for last week's snub. She sure got vocal about it. The drama queen.

Publish or perish, they say in academia. What do they know? What I do know is that I've had a terrific writing week, I felt violently happy while at it, and whether or not those words get published, I'll keep at it. Dita got one thing right. I do need her. The world probably doesn't need another Romantica writer, but the world is welcome to try to stop me from writing erotic romance. It may drive home the message and never let another Parker book see the light of day. Then again, spring light and I may surprise said wicked world. I hope to be happily surprised real soon. I hope to happily surprise you soon after that. And if aforesaid world decides to give me lemons instead, I'll take it as Scandinavians take their tequila, their trials and their tribulations: stomp on the lemon, throw the salt over my shoulder and drink the glass to the bottom and shout, "Thank you, sir, may I have another." Because really, what the hell else can you do?