From Aboard a Barge Floating Down a Minor Tributary of the River Styx

I am still not dead.

Not that you would know, because I've been a bad blogger again. This has been a busy day following a busy weekend following a busy last week. And now, I'll whine some more. *whimper, snivel*

Okay, I'm done. It's safe to keep reading. In fact, it should be fun because my brain is currently doing the cha-cha in Flakeyville. Did you know the Sleep Deprivation Creek runs through Flakeyville? It's a tributary of the River Styx; you're only half-dead when you cross it.

I had a minor fear realized yesterday (nothing to do with being half-dead, or virtually-dead, a.k.a. dead on the internet, however.) My mom mentioned she'd read my blog.

Eek. Okay, now I feel bad about all the swearing in that one post.

However, as a writer seeking publication, you have to be willing to spatter yourself all over the page and make it public. That's the point; you're dragging things out of your brain and showing everybody. They might not like it, but the onus is on them to walk away if that's the case. I do find it hard to put certain things on paper if I'm intending to try to publish it. I've always been bashful, so I find myself sweating and blushing over writing any sort of erotic scene, because...

Well, because my mom might read it. Or my dad, or my grandmother. I'm more complacent with the idea of my siblings reading my work because I think the three of us already know we're pretty darned quirky. I'm not sure the older generations realize that fully.

Incidentally, when my blog's existence got outed to the family, that was also my writing ambitions properly outed. I had told my parents I'd written a book, but I hadn't said more to anyone because what's the point? Until it's published, there's not much to report that's interesting to anybody but me.

As far as I know, my agent doesn't know I blog either. She's welcome to, because this is public space, but I haven't told her I do this. Again, I'm willing to have her see me being freaky--or flakey in the case of today--but I don't necessarily want to point it out.

Is there anything you avoid putting in your writing because you don't like the idea of people seeing that such things came from your brain? Would you use a pseudonym if you ever got the urge to write, for example, porn or something extremely offensive? Or do you fearlessly slap your name on everything that's yours, and damn the embarrassment that may arise at family reunions? And while we're on the subject, is blogging while over-tired as bad as blogging while drunk? I really can't tell at this point.

The Blogging Equivalent of "Um... So... Like..."

I've pretty much borked getting a blog entry up this weekend, so to hold you over until Tuesday-ish, when I will try to repair this oversight:

Non-Seasonal-Appropriate Cat Bowling!

The reason the blogging didn't get done is I finished the outline for my sequel last night and sent it off to my agent.

It's awesome how hammering out plot details can ignite your enthusiasm to write. I am simmering a stew of ideas for this book now and keep thinking, "Yeah, I could totally write this."