How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.

January.

The last time I blogged. 

It was six whole months ago.

But you knew that, I suspect.

I am nothing if not the typical new blogger.  Rampantly prolific in the first year, weaning slightly rounding into the second year and all but non-existent by the time I hit my third year. 

The pitiful thing is, I actually enjoyed blogging.  It helped kick start my own writing at times, gave me a forum to gab, to muse, to post a wee rant, to share something notable. No plausible excuse for not making it here sooner.  Hell, why even bother offering up one if it existed.  Where have I been these past months?  Nowhere and everywhere.  Just living my life.  Writing some but not tons. Supping. Laughing. Hiccuping. Celebrating. Strolling. Loving. Unloving. Gaining. Losing. Discovering. Shaking fists. Shaking hands. Shaking head. Gobs of good stuff. Really bad stuff too. The heartbreaking and joyful. Just my life.

When I thought about blogging at all, what I missed most was the book reviews, the pondering aloud about writing, about life and love and hope. Even more, just the act of writing at all.

So, because I can, I begin again. It's easy enough to start with books.  They are an omnipresence in my life.  I just cracked open the new Anne Rice novel, The Wolf Gift.  Having loved The Witching Hour so many years ago and slogged through Rice's vampire saga, why not take in her version of werewolf legend.  Over the past few months I have enjoyed several wonderful books:  A Discovery of Witches (Deborah Harkness), Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) - in truth that one was a re-read.  It is after all my favourite book. Also, Say Her Name (Francisco Goldman), The Hunger Games Trilogy (Suzanne Collins) and George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones.  I'll post a review of at least one of these soon.

As for my own writing, I am still working at Lillian's story.  Things are coming together and I have shared a number of sections with a few select folks and received good feedback.  Well that is if "hurry and finish it, will ya" is considered positive feedback. I honestly had no idea how hard this would be when I began.  Some days I'm making grand progress, other days it feels like I'm trying to catch a jello baseball. It's all wiggly and sticky and losing shape.  But luckily, I've recently found a muse, another writer and friend. He's encouragement. He's commiseration. He's task master.  All rolled into one. Just what I need. And, if that don't kick my darling Lillian to the finish, an upcoming few weeks off of solitary staycationing will help immensely.

As I cleared my throat and cracked my knuckles to begin writing here again, I had a hard time finding a place to start.  So much has happened in the past six months.  I've had enough family drama to last a decade.  My job has expanded in scope and responsibility.  I've broken bones, mended a broken heart that I thought had healed, feted friends, planned and taken getaways. I've packed enough living into these months to fill a story book or two, so there's plenty to spare for blogging.  If I know anything at all, it is that how we spend our days is, of course, as the brilliant Annie Dillard has said, how we live our lives.  And this gal, she lives by writing.