Writer's thinking

When I was working on Coat Hangers and Knitting Needles, my first non-fiction book about abortion I was obsessed. I read books, dug deeply into the web, Youtubes, sought out people to interview. I wrote and rewrote, arranged and rearranged.

After it was finished and published, my daughter started sending the book to legislatures, judges, and pro-life people.

Then it was time to return to my fiction writing.

I couldn't. The only thing I could write were blogs.

Until this point in my life, my head was full of words. I would see a mother and child walking down the street and I would not only write in my head a description but if I were alone, there would be an entire story about their conversation.

In a restaurant, store, home in my head I was writing descriptions.

Before CHAKN, when I was with people I would be noting what they were wearing, what they looked like.

During the summer we had an active social life, but the words about who we saw, where we were and what we did weren't there.

At first I thought it might be because my publisher had decided to only publish westerns, something I didn't want to write. The hopes of new publisher became a possibility, which helped about 20%.

I reworked Murder in Edinburgh and sent it off to the new publisher.

I thought the block it might be because although I lived with Annie, my mystery character, so long that it was time for her to move on. I saw her become comfortable with her self as she grew to appreciate her Third Culture Kid upbringing, get married and have a daughter. There were other books I wanted to write.

Years before I me Annie in my firt TC book, I had written Triple Decker, about an Irish Catholic Bostonian family touched by the loss of a son in Afghanistan. With hopes of publication either with a publisher or Indie, I reworked it.

My husband read it, proclaimed it the best thing I ever wrote. He can be a tough critic, so I know his review wasn't out of love. One way or another it will be published by the end of the year.

I've started Day Care, about four single mothers, with their daughters in day care (DUH!) and how they support themselves. I find it hard to concentrate although like my other books, the characters have become real to me. They can sit on my couch, share a cup of tea and tell me what they are willing and not willing to do.

But still the constant writing in my head was hiding.

Until yesterday.

I took my journaling book (last entry 2017) and the handmade fountain pen that my husband gave me for Christmas to La Noisette, ordered a hot chocolate and a croissant. The words flowed. Details, I hadn't seen jumped up and down in front of my eyes.

Three pages later I went to the pharmacy. Words were in my head on the walk. As I sat waiting for my number to be called, words about the posters, the products, the clients were in my head.

When I got home, working on Day Care wasn't a slog. Ashley, the lawyer in my book, sat on the bed behind the desk, and told me it was about time I got back to work and she was happy for me.

Sherlock the dog also jumped up on the bed and didn't notice Ashley. He wanted to play, so interruptions will still be part of my life.

I just hope the words keep running through my head.