I've always wondered why I feel most creative when I'm not in any position to be able to write. For instance, why is it, when I'm doing my best June Cleaver, washing clothes, entertaining, giving Siciilan cousins lessons in English Idioms (and doing all of this with incredible skill, mind you), I'm on a sort of autopilot. I drift on the wind. As I ( Read more... )

I suppose, because I have a raging sinus infection and I'm feeling squirrely, I'm gonna throw down this here gauntlet and let the mud-slinging begin.

You Jane Austen lovers can keep your precious Lizzy and Mr Darcy. Who cares about fine manners, social standing, and an aloof guy in a wet shirt? Gimme, gimme a man who HAS a sense of humour, a man who ( Read more... )

Instead of writing, instead of researching, instead of eating more than peanut butter on saltines for dinner, I spent Shrinky's vacation reading and watching various adaptations of Jane Eyre. And I infected others with my obsession--didn't I Swell?

With Shrinky in the land of Cannoli and Chianti I was all set to write and write and write. I had a ( Read more... )