It's the little epiphanies that make writing so much fun. 

Here I am, finished with chapter 7 of my second book, and stalled for nearly two weeks on the beginning of chapter 8.  It won't come together.  I write several pages only to look back on it and read drivel: my muse has apparently deserted me for a sunny beach in the tropics.  I scrap the beginning of chapter 8, and stare at a blank page.  I take a nap, go get something to eat, go do something else--anything to distract myself from the problem while The Girls in the Basement puzzle out a solution.  The two they threw up earlier in the week certainly didn't pan.  I worry at my dilemna like a sore tooth.

I sleep on it yet one more time.  Lo, and Behold!  The Girls in the Basement pull my butt from the fire!  What was the problem, you ask?  I was starting the chapter in the wrong point of view (pov) AND at the wrong point in time.  This little epiphany early this morning forced me from my bed.  I am not sure whether to sigh in irritation in having to get up before I really wanted to, or in relief.  I'm going with relief...remind me to buy the Girls in the Basement a pizza and some sodas....better yet, a spa day--less fattening.

However, I could have done without the other epiphanies that came with this latest one.  Those epiphanies will require WORK and EDITTING and ADDING entire sections, not to mention yet another pov...luckily, this pov character is already in the book, so it shouldn't be tooooo bad.  I know the other epiphanies add layers and complication, twists and turns to the story, and will (God I hope so) make it more exciting and readable, increase the tension.  I begged the Girls for a solution...they gave me several I didn't ask for.  Beggers can't be choosers, I suppose.  More's the pity.

To the epiphanies, those now and in the future: May I be worthy of their challenges and do them justice.

I have this reoccurring fantasy about my picture perfect office.  What would it have in it?  How would I set it up?

Let us start by saying that my ideal office would be more like a desk, good chair, and ton-o-books surrounding me.  See: Library, but with better, more private, accomodations and accessories.  The Man often teases me that he should be looking to buy a de-commissioned library for our next residence.  I don't disagree.

Back to the office: 
I always picture the room in the old world dark paneling and shelving, an oriental rug on the floor in dark shades of blue, green, red, gold, and browns, perhaps a sprinkling of white.  A sitting area with comfortable dark leather (not black) furniture--perhaps 2 chairs and a love seat set for conversation facilitation?--with tables and lamps that don't produce more than 60-75 watts each.  Desk would also be a darker wood, with drawers on either side.  Desk chair would be VERY comfortable, because, after all, I will be sitting in it for probably 3-8hrs, depending on how hard the Muse strikes me.  Books on shelves, art work on the walls.  Shelves perhaps freestanding or bolted floor-to-ceiling so there is no risk of them falling over and creating a domino effect as witnessed in The Mummy with Rachel Weiss and Brandon Fraser.  Behind the desk, or somewhere within easy arm's reach is a smaller book shelf.  This shelf has all of my writing reference books, current research books, dictionaries, etc on it.  Ok.  Perhaps a medium sized book shelf.  There may need to be a work table, or I could use a large size coffee table, just in case I need to sprawl for editting or research.  

I don't see a desktop PC in this office, only a laptop.  I see French doors that lead out onto a private patio or some such, and perhaps another window on another wall, or another door leading out onto another patio.

Perhaps I dream too much.  Perhaps I need to hit the lottery.  Whatever the case, I need to finish my book, get it sold.  Perhaps I will hit the jackpot, and be able to afford such a happy space.

Currently reading: Hooked by Les Edgerton, a how-to-write-good-beginnings that grab the reader & never let them go like-type book.