Before I tell you, though, I must share with you my small tragedy: this very afternoon, my beloved Starbucks reusable cold cup fell to the tile floor and cracked in half. The special bubble top is intact, so huzzah! for tiny blessings. The cup is still usable... sort of. I said lots of bad words so it was a good thing the kids were watching TV and are 100% incapable of tearing their attention away from Wubzy or the Kratts or whomever to hear things like their mother saying lots of bad words because she broke her beloved Starbucks reusable cold cup. Or respond to fire or tornado or nuclear war.
Anyway, my novel...
I actually have 4 novels going. 4. I’m not sure if this is normal or weird. Probably weird. Problem is that I never think anything is done. Or I’m not sure it’s done. All my novels are absolutely brilliant and utterly perfect—until I write them. Then they sort of suck. In my totally unbiased opinion. But 4 novels—well, that would be impressive if I weren't totally unimpressed.
Why don’t I just publish something, you wonder? There’s really no non-crazy answer.
Anyway, the novel about which I wanted to tell you... I mean, about which you demanded me to tell you. In 2009, I began The Mosquito Hours for NaNoWriMo. All I had when I started was a title and I have no idea how or when I came up with it. It refers to the time of day when mosquitoes are most active. And I thought it would be a good time to throw a family women of different generations together in an small screen house and see what they had to say to each other. There is house foreclosure, a practicing Wiccan, numerous sets of twins (fraternal and identical—not the same thing in the least), a character called Pickle, Medieval role-playing, secret diaries, a character called Guinevere, an RV from the ‘70s, a coronation, a stone house that survived a hurricane. Among other things. Intrigued?
Now the current draft rests in the capable hands of several beta readers, and I eagerly await their feedback. Why am I telling you all this? Sometimes the best way to get a thing done is to tell everyone and if nothing else can quell your fears and actually get it done and out there, then the pure horror of the shame of inaction might.