Life's been crazed, but I can't ignore the muse. She's been quiet, yet I can feel her watching me. And when I picked up a Dean Koontz novel this weekend, the first fun reading I've done in a very long time, she grabbed me by the neck. "You can write like this," she told me, "you just need to make the time." And before she could strangle me, I promised her a half hour a night.
So I'm going to take another look at Holly's writing class. I'm also thinking about skipping the short story angle and diving into a novel. Something new, something different. If I'm going to start this off right, different could very well cement me into the committment.
