RECAP.

So I've been silently working away...bereft of an agent...bereft of literary love...to finish a couple of writing projects.

I kind of lost my way for a bit.  Had a moment (quite a few actually) of squishy, face palm, why-the-feck-am-I-doing-this?, ego stomping.
One of my novels sat with an agent for a year. It was very exciting. After a sub, I received a revise and resubmit request.
Chuffed, to say the least.
A full request followed and then I settled in to wait.
I had other full requests during this time...Yeehaw, but they didn't pan out. I had a full request, but the agent wanted an exclusive. Couldn't give it because of all of the other plates spinning in the air.

Sigh.

The life of a writer is glamorous, eh?

Anyhoo. Reality. It bites.

After a very long wait...I finally got the call. REJECTED. But here's the sticking point. The rejection was based on the original query, and not the revised sub. The new stuff was apparently lost in the circular file. Shite happens. The agent is awesome, but from the feedback I know the revised manuscript was never seen.
My little glass house shattered.
Agents are busy. I get it. Writers are a dime-a-dozen.
But it was still a kick in the gut to have worked and waited, then passed by because of crashed files.
Hey. Shite happens.  The agent is still awesome. No worries. Just not my time.

Meanwhile in Simianville...

I had to step back. For seven years my poor hubster, my poor children, all supported my writing frenzies with patient smiles, plates of food that miraculously appeared in front of me at odd hours, and allowed me to get two novels, four collections of short stories, and a burgeoning graphic novel out of my head.
I put my eggs in another creative basket and took a break from writing.
I opened an etsy shop so I could channel my art into another form. It's been quite successful.
I caught up on movies.
I devoted time to The Walking Dead.
I became a devotee of Game of Thrones.
I enjoyed Grimm -- gotta show the love for a locally filmed show.
I maintained my relationship with Supernatural. yeah. mmmmmm.

I NEVER DID THE HARLEM SHAKE.
Wtf?

Lost track of some friends -- life happens, made new friends, reconnected with old friends again.

I still dabbled with writing -- wrote a zombie short from a horrible nightmare I had.
Took part in a writing prompt -- Bump off your enemy in 200 words or less -- that went into an ebook anthology.

Dove into my child's school world and headed up a major fundraiser for the PTA (NEVER AGAIN, BTW...)

My particular brand of awesome is a bit out of place at that school.  But of course it was a success. Even if I do say so meself. I tripled the previous years' revenue and kicked wicked high! HiiiiiiiYahhhhh!

But in the mean time:

I had dinner parties. And cocktail parties.
Went on family holidays.

Thought briefly about being pope:

naw.

Discovered my children are amazing and funny. My eldest loves to swear. My bad. But fer fuck's sake! oops.
She informed me thusly: I was born an Irish woman. It's in my blood. It's who I am!

F.M.Freddy! What have I done?

And she's very good at it, too. Heh. I'm probably going to start getting calls from the school soon. Sigh.

She's also a rock star. I'm so proud. My little monkey is at School of Rock and at 7 going on 8, she's amazing! In June she will be performing at a nightclub -- three Iron Maiden songs: Fear of the Dark, Hallowed Be Thy Name, and Run To The Hills.  She's got a huge voice and I'm looking forward to all the posh life she will provide in my dotage. 
Cackle™

And Shite went south.
A close family friend turned out to not be such a friend. She went a bit cray cray...totes (thanks, Finn and Jake) and I had to cut the rope lest she drag me down the cliff face with her.  Had to release the flying monkeys!

It was beautiful, man. Just beautiful.

But also sucky. Suckness.
Suckage.
And money suckage, too. Cost me close to $1200 to rid myself of that brand of crazy. No good deed goes unpunished.

I should have seen it coming

The thinner the eyebrow, the crazier the chica. Boom!

turmoil, turmoil, turmoil....and then holding pattern.
Retrospect and deep thoughts ensued. Ed Asner only visited one time...and I can't remember what he said in the dream. Non-dead Living spirit guide gone silent.  Uh-oh.


But I still had the deep dark urge to write.

yes...you are writer...you are still a writer...

My poor writing partner, Ariana Burns, is pretty amazing. She has suffered so while I wallowed in self pity.
We've been co-writing a novel for about 30 years.
Okay.
Not 30.
But it feels like it.

heh. It started out as a Nano challenge. And we are sooooooooo close.
I'm going to put this in the public eye so you all can hold me accountable:

I WILL FINISH WILDCAT OF THE HIGH SEAS BY AUGUST 10. 

And now for part II of my Ari promise:
I WILL FINISH THE THREE KEYS OF CAPTAIN HELLFIRE SONGS BY JULY 10.

 
The graphic novel will be done by December. It has to. It's just too amazing not to be. Michael O'Mannion's art is the bomb diggety.

I'm going to self publish one novel:

and keep looking for a home for Melvin:

And I will get a pony.


(crickets)

Okay. Maybe just a bike.

 So. There is my recap. Tahdah.
Whatevs.