I Knew This Would Happen

Yesterday was the coldest day of the year. This entire week, the coldest of the year, has been very atypical for March. It's supposed to be the start of mud season, frost heave season, and maple-tapping season--not hard freezes and wicked bad windchills and subzero temperatures.

Unfortunately, it was also our busiest week in the State Legislature, so I was unable to hibernate through the frigid spell. I had to be out in the cold and the wind, marching along the streets of our capital city, moaning and mewling under my breath.

Mercifully, the cold snap is over, and the climate will gradually become more normal.

Yesterday, my committee had public hearings from 10 till 3:30 (I lunched with the Chap in the Dungeon). Raced to the church where we hold our Diocesan Council meetings, and moderated the meeting from 4 till 6.

The cumulative exhaustion of the past few days caught up with me. I slept really late this morning.

During breakfast, I listened to a radio interview with this guy. Tried to phone in but the caller lines were busy the entire hour.

Today I'll be proofing the results of my annual It's Almost My Birthday and A Blizzard is Raging so it Must be Time to Update My Author Photo session. (The catalyst for that hairdresser's appointment I had to cancel last week to take Ruth to the vet.)

So I did my own hair. Made some dodgy clothing choices. In some instances, the effect was scarily Raine Spencer-ish. (The late Princess Diana's stepmother, aka "Acid Raine".)



The other pics are better than okay, nothing as brilliant as I wanted. After I get my Spring Makeover, we'll try again.

Returning to the title for this blog...not only did I know this would happen, I waited for it with equal dread and hope.

The Next Book has presented itself.

Yes, just as I'm well into the most important phase of my novel, the siren song of a new, different, tempting book calls to me. And of course, it's The Perfect Book, unlike the one I'm slogging through. It's nonfiction, it's highly marketable, it's on a topic near and dear to my heart, it will be easy to write--and fun. So naturally, I want to drop everything and focus on this fantastic idea, develop it, nurture it, cherish it.

This always happens. It's as inevitable as the sunrise.

What will I do?

I'll listen to the siren for a little while. Draft an outline, refine the theme, throw together a prologue.

Then I'll muster some discipline, set it aside, and get back to the book for which my agent has been patiently waiting--or not waiting--for longer than I care to confess.