Posting From the Rabbit Hole

Okay--I admit it.

I'm eyeball deep from the rabbit hole.

Those of you who write--or knit--know about the rabbit hole. It's the place you go when all of your energy, all of your creativity, creates a quantum singularity of your attention, and suddenly...whoop! There you are.

You listen to the kids with half an ear. You watch television with only part of your attention. You yearn for moments when you are alone--you can knit or design or spin or even just fold clothes and be IN THE RABBIT HOLE.

My kids have learned to 'handle' me. They clean the house when I ask, they get the little kids milk or dvds or whatever the hell they need, and everyone learns that when mom looks at them blankly, whatever it is they're saying is going RIGHT over her head.

Oh yeah--I do manage basic shit. We made it to Fairytale Town yesterday, where the little kids ran themselves senseless and I got to have an AWESOME conversation with my friend Jenny, who never gives up hope for writing and who always buys and reads my books and who LOVES to talk about books, science fiction, m/m romance and, in general, all the stuff I love to talk about but have so very few people who share the same interest. It was awesome--it exhausted the little kids, I had fun... and then I came back home and whoop!

Right down the rabbit hole.

Today I went to aqua-aerobics and then played with the kids for an hour in the pool--we had a good time. The little kids get bolder every time we go into the pool. Ladybug was putting her face in the water and blowing bubbles today. (About that--my little Squishy Belle has a nice patina of tan--with freckles! Today her brother was offering to take away her freckles and Squishy said "No! My freckles are pretty! Mom said so!" Proof, I guess, that I only sort of suck as a parent.)

But I got home, got them fed, turned on some Spongebob, and whoop!

Right down the rabbit hole.

Why? Because someone in a position to publish my work said, "Hey--we're waiting for you to submit something!" and the perfectest bestest most wonderfulest story dropped into my head from heaven.

So I went from 744 pages of RAMPANT into what's looking to be 50 pages of IF I MUST. I have literally written more than 40 pages in three days.

My head is full of voices that aren't mine, conversations I've never had, emotions I've never needed to contend with.

And kids who are tired of Seefood. (If I see it, I throw it in the pot.)

This, boys and girls, is where you live when the roar of the dragon drowns out all reason. What's really insane is that, at the moment? I'm happy to be here.