My cat is killing me.  He has some crazy internal alarm set and every stinkin’ morning at 4:30 a.m. he’s ready to go out and take on the world of my back yard.  That’s grand, except I’m not ready at 4:30 a.m. :( Not that he wants me to go outside with him, but it does necessitate me crawling out of bed to humor him. Sometimes I manage to go back to sleep but more often than not I lay (or is it lie?) there and silently curse the cat who has interrrupted my sleep.  Of course, I could get up and be productive but the bottom line is I don’t want to start my day at 4:30 a.m. 

I’ve tried ignoring him.  He begins by scratching the chair in my room.  Then the drapes.  What?  I’m still not up?  Then he comes and stands on me and makes that purrrrrth sound in my face.  I’d reset his little internal kitty alarm…if I only knew how. Instead I’ll just eagerly anticipate the arrival of daylight savings time. Then he’ll be rousing me at 5:30 a.m.  Trust me, I need all the beauty sleep I can get! :0 

Back in February three of us decided to challenge one another to lose 10 pounds by April 1.  :(  I’ve gained 6 pounds. :( :( :(  Can you tell I’m not particularly happy about that?

 I believe I’m not the only writer with this self-destructive tendancy…but the closer I am to the end of a book and if it’s not going particularly well…well, hey, if you can’t write your way out of a paper bag, why not aim to eat yourself out of house and home?  Last week was a dismal display of no excercise and all pretense of healthy eating shot to….

So…tonight I’m dragging my butt…along with the extra six pounds…back to kickboxing.  And I’m just saying “NO” to those wicked little Girl Scout cookies….

Friday, 9:38 a.m.

Sitting at my desk.  Phone rings. 

Me:  Hello.

Caller:  Hi, this is Gayle Wilson with RWA. (At this juncture, my heart begins to pound as I do not, believe it or not, get calls from the RWA president on a regular basis — well, actually this was the first time).  How are you this morning?

Me:  I think I’m doing very well at this point.

Caller:  I think you are too since you’re a RITA finalist in short contemporary for REALLY HOT!

A chill literally rolled over me from head to toe and my hands began to shake.  I won’t bore you with the rest of the conversation and actually my memory is faulty at this point as I’m shaking and pretty darned excited.

:)  :)  :)

If you want to know more about the RITA Award or to see a complete list of finalist, here’s the link

https://www.rwanational.org/eweb/dynamicpage.aspx?webcode=06RITAFinalists

My blog will be out of commission today as I transition to another software program.

If no one will post comments and check back tomorrow….sorry for the inconvenience. :)

One of the questions I’m asked most frequently is where I get my ideas. Sometimes it’s an overheard snippet of conversation, a movie scene, a magazine article, or a picture such as this….

This inspires me to write. It fires my imagination to fill in the blanks. It tells me nothing but leaves me yearning to know where he is, where he came from, where he’s going, what happened immediately before this moment, what will happen next.

In actuality, it’s a lovely ad for American Express but it literally captured my imagination and took my breath when I saw it. Well, maybe the breathless business was because Ken Watanabe is so incredible. That bone structure…that mouth…he even has beautiful hands….

Whaddaya think? Cute, huh? Even if I am the fat fish….:)

This is the painting, reproduction of course, that hangs in my hero’s bedroom — well, the hero in my wip. :)

Leda and the Swan
by William Butler Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
How can anybody, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins, engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

This is the painting, reproduction of course, that hangs in my hero’s bedroom — well, the hero in my wip. :)

Leda and the Swan
by William Butler Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By his dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
How can anybody, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins, engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?