I took the wonderful advice of jeannineatkins and kept working with the words today, hoping that if I did the Muse would breathe life into them again. And lo and behold, she did. (Maybe it was the sprig of forsythia I picked yesterday that tempted her to visit?)

I’m still snatching my writing time in fragments, but I had one of those wonderful days where the scenes spin in new directions, and it all seems so real and so exciting that I don’t want to stop.

I’m delighted and relieved, not only because it happened, but because it happened now. You see, this weekend I’m going to the NESCBWI conference — my first writing conference in four years (long story) — and I was afraid I was going to spend the entire time with an imposter complex. A writer who doesn’t write! Egad!

But now I feel like a writer again. Thank goodness.

(NOTE: In another burst of housekeeping, I’ve finally gotten around to attaching a picture of myself to this blog, so that you all can know what I look like in real life without linking all the way to the websites. Much as I love my Roman icon, it’s not exactly a reliable guide.)

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