Words

I'll admit it.

Letters, words, punctuation, grammar, all that ... makes me High with a capital H.

Reading, writing, thinking about writing and reading - it's all so good and sweet.

I've had the house to myself for the past several hours and I've done nothing but write and plot and think about what I'll write next. And it's so ... delicious.

The first review I wrote for Charlotte was O.K. Nothing spectacular, just O.K. But I want to do better. I want to do more. I want to do another review, with more review of the book and less of how I came to read the book. In addition to that, I want to dive in and do interviews now. Biting off more than I can chew? Maybe. Probably. But it is too tempting and exciting.

A few minutes ago, I sent an email off to one of my favorite authors and asked for the chance to interview her if she comes to town again - or any other way that I could work it out. Phone, email, texting, carrier pigeon - I don't care. I really like her work - reading it reinforces the idea that someone, someday may just want to read my work - my book.

All this literary goodness goes straight to my head. It's so addictive. The more I write, the more I want to write. The more I read, the more I want to write. I am giddy with the thought that I have an email correspondence with two published authors - and two more writers that are published regularly in magazine and newspapers. For me, that's like having signed autographs from Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.

Those writers - my e-friends - are my idols, in a way -because they have found the way down that scary dark path that I am trying to navigate. And they are kind enough to show me support, and offer a light to ward against the darkness.

I'm giddy and nonsensical and it's past midnight, so I ought to go to bed. But I won't because I'm too full of these words. I have to get them down on paper or on screen before they disappear.

I don't think I'm the only one that has to sleep with a notepad and pen beside the bed, and has to carry a small notebook and pen with her at all times.

Today, these past few hours, I have felt more alive and more myself - my true self - than I have in a long time. Writing is like breathing. When I don't write, I feel suffocated and stale. When I take pen in hand, or place my hands on this keyboard - I come alive.

(Happy sigh)

Good Night!