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November 2013

September 2013

Calling All Atlanta Writers!

If you've got a novel brewing inside you or one that's made it to the page but stalled halfway, quit making excuses as to why you're not writing and sign up for one of my classes this Fall.

Check out my Callanwolde schedule on page 12 of the Fall '13 Class Schedule, as well as my MJCCA schedules for 101 and 102 classes.

I know there's an option that will work for you. Sign up now, kiddos. I promise to deliver.



Goodbye White Jeans, Goodbye

Well, here we are. Labor Day. This summer flew by, and other than a wonderful trip to Israel in May (not technically summer per se, but close enough), it didn't really feel like summer at all. Most days were spent frantically searching for a new home and tossing/packing/planning. We're now officially one month in to our Kirkwood residence and loving the new 'hood and home. It really feels like a community here, and I, with my hermit-like inclinations, am glad for it. It was worth the pain of moving, and believe me, that is saying a lot. Moving is hell on wheels. Even more so with a rambunctious toddler (literally) nipping at your heels.

Just thought I'd check in and do the blog thing since September will always feel so very back to school and work for me. I can still vividly remember orientation - the stress of what to wear; anxiety about the locker combination; the smell of brand new loose leaf paper and folders. I loved it all. Coincidentally (or maybe not?) I've started working on my next, next novel, which requires a good bit of reading, research, and my favorite: text highlighting. Feeling good about the idea and hopeful that I can bang it out.

My next novel, Driving Lessons, which will be out in April '14, is weeks away from galleys, which both blows my mind and excites the hell out of me. In a nutshell, it's about three women on the cusp of motherhood - all at very different stages in their lives - and what the day to day of grappling with that concept; both real and imagined, entails. Although there's only one true protagonist, each woman's story is told. I'll have an image of the jacket up soon. It's real purty.

Ari is rustling in his crib, signaling the end of my writing time and the start of the second half of our day. Somehow, he's nineteen months. I can't believe it.