I know I’ve been a lax blogger lately. I’ve been sick again (boo), and I celebrated a birthday and my first Valentine’s Day is a married lady (hooray!) But mostly I haven’t been blogging because I really, really want to finish a draft of BOOK OF THE DEAD by March 15th.

Did I just say that out loud? Are you talkin’ to me? Did you rub my lamp?

(That’s from Aladdin, in case you didn’t know.)

My desire to finish the draft doesn’t mean I’m entirely absent from the internets. (JacketKnack, a blog about book jackets, written by one of my awesome grad school advisors, Julie Larios, and by Carol Brendler, an admired older classmates), has brightened my mind. The #genderinya tag on Twitter has kept me mulling a bit about what we gain and what we lose when we look at stories and accomplishment through the lens of identity. And my buds on Facebook, in addition to giving me my first and sure-to-be-most-fun Facebook birthday (all those wall notes!), have cheerfully complied with my requests for distraction. (There’s a story to be told about my Quest to Find 1,000 People Who Want to Save The Girl With the Silver Eyes, but that’s another story.)

However, for some reason, while I am bien game for bouncing off others’ enthusiasm during drafting, and certainly have crazy energy for the little things–blogging, not so much of late. I know. I’ve got to throw more of the little things up here. And so I am, today, with a quote from somebody’s blog about a towel.

But wait. I haven’t gotten her permission. Okay, hold the phone on the towel.  I’m just going to check on whether it’s okay to use the towel and then I’ll get back to you.

Cheerio!