I’m the worst kind of blogger. The kind who constantly scans her favorite blogs, irritated that they’re not updated, while my own goes dormant for a month or two at a time. The shame is…actually, it’s not that bad. I’m pretty comfortable with my double standard. So all you slackers out there, Diane, Leaf, Heidi, the rest of you. Get back to work! I’m bored!

I have to thank Angie for bringing the long leisurely summer I’m enjoying to a screeching halt by reminding me it’s almost over. I’m usually all for the start of a semester, and I’m especially excited to start my grad classes, but for once I am sad to say goodbye to my freedom. Of course, I’m writing this while Greta naps and Alex is upstairs playing nicely in his room.

Spent last weekend at the beach by myself writing and got rolling with a story that there’s no hope of finishing in the next two and a half weeks. So what if it is the sequel to a novel that still needs revised (and retyped before that)? I love this beginning part. It’s even more fun than reading and anyone who knows me understands this is about as good as it gets.

I’m not even reading anymore. I can hear you gasping, but it’s true. I haven’t picked up a book since Heather suckered me into reading the stupid, addictive Twilight series. Okay, I have, but only one and I read it very, very fast. I give Heather a hard time for erasing a couple of weeks of my summer, but I should thank her. The books were a reminder of all the great addictive books I’ve read, a reminder that I started writing to tell my own addictive story. I think I spent so much time critically studying books that I almost forgot this little detail. Not a bad lesson to relearn as I head into the semester.