I think I need a new heart

It's still March, and where have I been? Not posting to my blog, or doing much of anything else online. I'm worthless. Except in reality, where I'm busy times a million.

I've been working and cooking and cleaning the house from the blades of the ceiling fans to the stained up carpet and fake hardwood floor. I've been taking care of a certain Baby Girl who was the most monstrous little hellion she's ever been for a week and a half because we weren‘t going for our daily walks. My father had insisted on going with us one night, and Baby Girl got mad. She knows the walk is our special time, and who is he to intrude? She refused to go back out, so I‘m guessing it was pent up energy and a lack of sunshine that put her in such a foul mood that I spent a lot of time trying to cure, and calm her down, and make the best of whatever loud and fussy situation we were in, but she'd yell and cry and scream NO! and hit me and kick me and throw things till I ended up on the couch sobbing in a pathetic, curled-up ball.

A few days ago, it all got better and disappeared like a thick fog had lifted, and now we're all clear. Happy. Playing outside, and balancing our time between work, cook, clean, cartoons, toys, bath and bedtime, and ah yes, my writing.

I've been writing.

So far this year I've completed three short stories. The first one in February. It took me two weeks. The second was also in February, though it only took me half an hour. Two pages. I started it last spring, and never finished it, which I regretted, so while on a writerly high from finishing that first one, I thought, Well, I could at least give an ending to those long lost sixteen pages.

I did, and I liked it.

I wrote the third short story between March 2nd and March 18th, so hence my absence here. Not counting all that other stuff I've been up to, of course; we all know I'm (mostly) capable of balancing an internet life with a real life, but the truth is, this story was so distracting, and took so much of my writerly energy, that I actually felt mentally drained by the end of each day (I write my fiction by hand while Baby Girl eats breakfast).

So yes. Fiction, and lots of it. Writing stories. Not blogging.

My grand total now is two novels, and four short stories. I plan on writing another one after the weekend, editing them, tying the five stories together, and tossing them into a writerly contest, to which the deadline is the last day of May.

I've never given much thought to writing contest. I don't mean that in a bad way; I honestly was unaware of them. Yes, I'm an idiot. Oblivious to the profession I claim to be a part of, or WANT to be a part of...

In real life news:

I did my taxes. I'm getting twenty-five hundred dollars back!

My mom and my aunt and I are going to a festival tomorrow.

I think my sister's mad at me.

I told my father how much I've been writing and how I plan to enter that contest. He got quiet, and said, Best of luck with all that. As if I had just told him I'm growing wings, wrapping my head in tin foil, and flying to the Moon.

We might build a house soon. Talk of land, and borrowing money, and selling the shoebox have been in order. The Others will gladly deed me not only what I'm sitting on now, but a fairly big portion behind it. Though my father also has land to spare, should I want out of this cult-like village and move into town next to both my parents who are neighbors.

I'm not sure I want to live that close to them. Though mostly, I don't want to leave the dirtroads, the seclusion of the backwoods, the big yard, Mr. Junky and Mr. Shed.

A real house, though. No matter where. It'll still be a while, and that's fine. I've got time. Tis only March, and I have a well-behaved child (for now; knock on desktop), a collection of short stories to send out, and a blog I hope of nursing back to health.