a message from my assistant

I'm sorry. Serenity can't come to the blog today. Yesterday she realized that her dreams and plans are at least three completed manuscripts ahead of her actual writing, and she freaked. Out.

So she stayed up really late tweaking the proposal for the memoir, replacing the lame, forgettable main character from her novel to a passionate, simply better one, plotting a book inspired by the writings of L.M. Montgomery, and picturing the premier of the screenplay she should have ALREADY WRITTEN.

Listen, she's read Nathan Bransford's awesome post, Ten Commandments for the Happy Writer, so she knows that you can't play the If-Only game. (If only I get an agent, I'll be happy. Then when that happens, well, if only the book would get published, etc., etc., until you've if-onlied yourself right into the grave, People). She also read the beautiful post on Rachelle Gardner's site yesterday, a guest blog by Richard Mabry, MD, about enjoying the writer's journey and not being in such a hurry to get to the destination.

She gets that. But still she freaked. And she stayed up late. And that's why there's no witty post today. Nor a dramatic one. Nor a movie review from her cabinet at home (yea- whatever happened to those?). She's been thinking about friendship lately, her children as always, the Breakfast Club she emails (almost) every day, and the fact that all the great television dramas have a special place where the characters go to slough off their troubles and regain their perspective - and how we should all have one of those too. So when she returns, maybe she'll blog about those things.

Until then, just let her freak out for a few hours to a day. It always passes. Just ask Felicity or Michael, her mom or her friend Lori down the street. Sometimes she's Serenity. But sometimes she's serenity now.