Today I was home from work with a bit of the flu. It's a fairly warm and sunny day here for the end of January. The birds are twittering away and for a few moments I sat on the deck just wrapped in a fleece jacket. The sun felt good on my face, and for the time being I enjoyed my mug of hot coffee, watching the birds on the feeders. But I knew I had to get back to the keyboard. Isn't writing a tough task master? Can you count the ways that we procrastinate, putting off the inevitable? I certainly can. Dishes, laundry, paying bills, re-organizing the linen closet (ugh), naming the dust bunnies that continue to elude the vacuum, browsing on Pinterest (hours fly by!) . . . and the list goes on. Why do we do this as writers? It reminds me of artists who quake at the bare white canvas before slapping on a blob of paint. Anything to kill off the taunting white paper / canvas. Yes, we've all read the articles about how we should just roll up our sleeves and g
Author of contemporary and historical romance