Real life has definitely been getting in the way of my writing life lately. Big time. There’s just stuff happening…like crazy. And because I think it’s pretty important to put real people before fictitious people, the novel and I have not spent so much time in each other’s company lately. 

Has absence made my heart grow fonder, you ask? 

I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m a bit fickle when it comes to loving this wordy creation of mine. One day my affections for the book are stronger than Miss Piggy’s for Kermit. (Which, just in case you’re not a Muppets afficionado, is saying quite a lot.) Other days, I could just plain take it or leave it.

Regardless, I think the novel might be fond of me. ‘Cause it just won’t let me go…even when real life gets in the way of any actual writing time. Much as my days have been occupied with other things lately, this work-in-progress keeps lurking in the back of my head. Does this or that make sense? Should he or she really say that? What’s the best course of action for so and so?

But I’ll tell ya, the reminder that has most firmly planted itself in my head throughout these past couple weeks is this: if I want these characters I’ve conjured up to be convincing, then really, their lives need to end up just as busy and scrambled-up jigsaw-puzzlish as mine has felt lately. It can’t just be one over-arching issue that carries the main characters through the book.

In other words, they need to live cluttered lives. It’s just not that interesting to read a book about someone whose puzzle pieces are all lined up and ready to fall into place just so. Keep throwing those obstacles at them, that’s what I need to do.

If I’m ever able to fit the writing time in, that is!

Which I will. 

Just not tonight. The real world beckons.