I am a writer.

It's been a year since I've written. There are a lot of reasons why I haven't. First, Doug's mother came to visit/live with us a year ago . . . yesterday in fact. Shortly after she got here, the house we were living in sold. We quickly found a rental that by living in, we could take our time finding a house to buy that would suit the five of us. 

We packed and moved and unpacked in a less than three weeks. I set up an office in that house, that quickly became Beckett's bedroom instead. It was necessary, but it did set me back. Whenever and wherever I tried to write, it just didn't work. In hindsight it related more to me not being in the mindset to do it, rather than not having a place to do it.

In August we went to New York and Pennsylvania. We flew into Buffalo, took the boys to Niagara Falls, stayed with my aunt on my father's side of the family, saw cousins on his side, saw cousins on my mother's side . . . all in two days.  We then drove to Pennsylvania for Doug's niece's wedding, and Doug's father's memorial service and ash internment. We then drove back to Buffalo and flew home. 

Two months later, Doug's mom returned to Florida and with Doug's brothers' help, packed up her belongings and moved here permanently. A week or so after she got back, her furniture arrived. Thus ensuing another "move," getting her settled, organized, etc.

After that, Doug collapsed while on a walk with me, and we discovered he had a corroded aortic heart valve that needed immediate replacement. That was in November. His recovery was swift given the enormity of the surgery, but it still kept me occupied . . . trying to juggle his needs, his mom's needs, the boys' needs. 

Come January we began our house search in earnest. If you've ever looked for a house to buy, you probably know that it is an all-consuming activity. Our lease was due to expire at the end of July and the last thing I wanted to have to do was extend it. 

By March we'd found a house. It doesn't sound like much time, January to March, but I can assure you, it felt like an eternity. The new house went under contract, and we started packing. Again.

We moved in the first week of April, settled the house, and when the snow finally stopped falling at the end of May, we started on the front yard. It has been a major project. We've tackled beds, taken out trees, added a flagstone patio, moved a thousand rocks, put in a drainage bed and probably more . . . that isn't any more interesting that what I've just written.

It is now the end of June. As much as the last year has been the perfect storm to keep me from focusing on writing . . . yesterday was the perfect storm to get me back in the groove.

A series of things resulted in me wanting to hibernate. I'm not good at hibernating, and was quickly antsy. Knowing my hibernation intention was daylong, if not weeklong, I jumped right in.

The first thing I did was write the opening paragraph to the next book in the Crested Butte Cowboy series. I don't want to write that book right now, but I had to get the paragraph out of me. That done, I opened LINGER.

LINGER was the first book I wrote. I started and finished it four years ago. It has gone through so many iterations, as would be appropriate for a beginning novel. Back in May I attempted an edit, but after getting through the first hundred pages, I quit. 

I felt myself hating the book, believing it wasn't salvageable given how many issues there were with the writing, the storyline, the characters . . . everything. What I knew then, but ignored, was I should've taken a short break, a few hours or a few days, and then jumped right back in. I ALWAYS do this. I go back and re-read one of my books, and hate it. A couple days later, I start reading again, and love it. Do I learn? Nope.

Why do I re-read them? Because I write series books. In order to finish the third book in the LINGER series, I need to re-read the first two. I need to get myself in the mindset, familiarize myself with the characters and the stories in order to avoid inconsistencies.

Yesterday I went from hate to love with LINGER. Rather than beating myself up about letting so much time pass, I just kept working. By early evening I had finished the edit. 

When Ballou's bark woke me this morning, I tossed and turned trying to go back to sleep, only to give up. Seven in the morning, can't sleep, might as well get to work. 

It is now almost ten. I've taken a short break to have breakfast, get dressed, start my day, but am now ready to get back at it. I'm on page sixty-two, and so far, I'm in love with this book. The re-read/edit is going much more quickly on this book. In between the first and second LINGER book, I wrote three others in another series. The difference in my writing is evident. There are fewer character/storyline/style issues. The book is flowing just fine, and as long as I don't decide I hate it sometime today, I should be finished later tonight.

And that means . . . I'll be ready to work on book three, the final in the series. Initially the book was set to release in EARLY 2016. That clearly didn't happen, for all the reasons above. My projected release is now early 2017, but I hope it will be much sooner than that, because I have something else I really want to write.

For two years I've wanted to write a Crested Butte Cowboy Christmas book. It will probably be a novella, and it will give me, and my readers, a chance to get back in touch with the Rice and Patterson clans . . . find out how they're doing, and get me back in the cowboy romance spirit. 

It pains me to say this, but I haven't been to a single rodeo or bull-riding event this year. I usually go to the stock show in January. Didn't this year. Cowboy All-Stars, didn't go to that either. I don't remember why I didn't go to Pikes Peak or Bust last summer, but I do know why I can't go this year . . . we'll be in Boston when it takes place. Elizabeth Stampede . . . missed that, which almost broke my heart. It is one of the best small-town rodeos in the country. 

So hear I am . . . a writer again. The last twenty-four hours reminded me that I am. I'm not stopping now. I refuse to let months and months go by again without writing. In fact, I refuse to let days go by. I am committed and I am determined. I am a writer.