Staggering Toward the Finish Line

It was black dark when I left the house yesterday morning just before seven. The porch light revealed shrubs and trees shrouded in white and giant fluffy flakes swirling all around.

No matter -- I had a Rotary Club meeting to attend. A charming neighbor had invited me to come speak and, not wanting to blow my cover as an intrepid mountain woman (when I'm really a weather wimp), I was going and I would speak.

It was a nice group, gathered in a local cafe where the smell of coffee and sausage accompanied the conversation and the business part of the meeting. Then it was my turn.

I told the story, as I've done so many times, of our move to the mountains and my journey to publication. And I left time for questions.

The questions are always my favorite part of a presentation. Some are expected -- do you have a special time and place for writing? (Yes, but I'm pretty flexible.) Some are unexpected -- what made you think you could write a book?

I've asked that one of myself partway through each book in turn -- that dreadful muddle in the middle where all the characters seem to be going in different directions with neither rhyme nor reason to bring them together in a march toward a coherent and believable ending.

But every time (so far), the muddle at last resolves and my characters and I march, limp, or stagger toward an ending. We're on the final lap now. Keep your fingers crossed.