I think I'm down to one reader. This is what happens when you neglect a blog, I've brought it upon myself, all that. Fortunately, my one reader is a real person who comes over every so often, and he can berate me in person for my lack of bloggerliness, and apparently it has worked. A bit.
Here we are at the very end of spring break - a spring break that began with my first-ever writing retreat ('writing advance', my one reader kindly called it, and, while I would certainly like to think there was some advancement taking place, I'm pretty sure that for us writer-wannabes, advances are something different that involves money). I must say, as fabulous as the whole thing was, I am still recovering from all the silence. There was a time in my life when I was an abnormally quiet person. Okay, I'm still abnormally quiet, but once upon a time I existed in a near-constant state of abnormal quiet. Now I am a quiet person in a near-constant state of OH MY GOD PLEASE BE QUIET, and, as it turns out, life with all those Murray boys has reset my internal volume control such that when I find myself in a cabin, all alone, with no electricity and snow falling in huge blobs all around, I start feeling like my eyeballs are going to turn inside-out. Luckily the cure for the eyeball thing seems to be the same as the cure for the abnormal quiet thing, and it's the reason I was up there in the first place: write.
In other news, I read great books this month - two books by Adrianne Harun who is fabulous, and the new one - Ocean at the End of the Lane - by Neil Gaiman, from desperate adolescent nerd-crush on whom I have never recovered, and whose writing just keeps getting awesomer so I can justify the two-decade nerd crush - and also Drown by Junot Diaz, latest nerd crush. Sigh.
