I write cozies with a touch of romance featuring sassy female sleuths. Of course she couldn't solve the mystery without the help of friends, so grab a coffee, pull up a chair and make yourself at home.
What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks 'the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.' And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. when I'm writing, I write. And then it's as if the muse is convinced that I'm serious and says, 'Okay. Okay. I'll come.'
Okay, so I haven't really time travelled, but it feels like it as I have just this moment realised it is Friday night. Where did the week go? It also means I missed posting here yesterday. I hadn't forgotten I had to post, I just hadn't realised how urgently I needed to! It's been one of those weeks you'd rather forget, so I guess I did manage to forget one tiny part of it. I'll try and do better next week.