Ah, writing.  I love writing.  I also hate it.

Sometimes the words flow like a river.  Sometimes the words come out like pulling teeth.  When I write a draft, I am a genius.  When I read a draft, I am an utter fool.  I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic here, but you get the point.

And that is why I am so terrified, because…

I’m planning a novel.

There.  I’ve said it.

Now I guess I have to do it.

My in-laws were visiting from the East Coast, and we were somewhere near Point Reyes Station at a bed and breakfast.  It was all very nice, really.  Everyone who stayed at the house ate breakfast together, including a fellow from Chicago who complained bitterly about traffic.  My mind wandered while he spoke and a story popped full blown into my head.

I wrote down the story in a fever.  The next day I couldn’t wait to look it over.

Boy, did it suck.

But there was this one little part that was kind of, I don’t know, not so utterly horrible.

And my idea for a novel grew out of that.

And now I’m worrying that thread until it turns into something I can actually write.

Huzzah!