Anita, in a way only Anita can, lightly chided me for not blogging more often and I'd like to explain myself. So here's the truth: I got nothin'.
My creative juices have dried up. I've written nothing original in weeks. I sit down to blog and I have nothing to say. In fact, I tried to post earlier and then realized that the whole thing sounded familiar. So I checked my own archives and found a post that was almost identical to the one I was composing. ("Composing" makes this whole thing sound much more serious.)
I've done some revising on my YA, but even that's slow going. I've tried coming up with new stuff and I sit there and stare at the white screen of my laptop. I type some drivel and backspace over it, type some more garbage and erase that too. That story about the ducks is the best I've come up with in what feels like forever and I got nary a response to that which means it pretty well sucks.
So since I haven't written anything, I really have nothing to blog about. I can't exactly blog about my writing because there's hasn't been any. I could blog about the minutiae of my extremely interesting life, but how often can you go to that well before the water starts to get that metallic taste to it and you think it might have too high an iron content and so you buy bottled water even though you know it's a total rip-off and probably not that much healthier than the stuff coming out of the tap? You know?
Patience, young padawans. Genius is a fickle beast.