I’m alive. I haven’t died. I haven’t headed off to the mountains to live my life as a hermit (although to be honest, that sounds awesome). But I have been away for a while. Not away as in vacation. In fact, I haven’t really left my house (again, awesome). What I have been doing is regrouping. There has been so much going on in the last couple of years, both in the world and in my world, that I needed to step away from it all and just do nothing. At least nothing writing-related.

I was not out of ideas. Hell, I’ll have to live another fifty lives to write all the stories I have planned. But it felt like I was out of gas. Out of steam. Out of umpf. So many of the changes in the literary world were discouraging, that I lost my drive. I no longer felt the overwhelming urge to purge myself of the stories within me. It was almost as if I didn’t care anymore. In my mind, though, the stories and ideas still simmered. I knew that it would only be a matter of time until the drive returned, so I decided to just wait it out. Not force anything to happen. When the time came to get going again, I would know. So for the past several months, I’ve done other things to fill my time. I’ve crocheted and knitted and embroidered and tried new hobbies and a bunch of other things. But now…

The drive has returned.

It’s time to get going again. There are stories to be written. Oh, so many stories.

Buckle up, my lovelies. Let me drive.