A confession...

Okay, I have a confession to make--I am a hooker. It started in college (the first time around), and I just can't seem to get away from it. Now, before I start having people show up on my doorstep for an intervention, or before news of my "occupation" spreads through Greentown like wildfire, I mean a CROCHET hooker! Right now, I have probably 9 unused skeins of yarn (not probably, 'cause I counted) and 5 works in progress. I say this because it makes a seemilngly pretty decent excuse for why I haven't been writing lately--or at least lets me ignore the real reason.

It has been a while since I posted any of my story ("a while" here means that it has been incredibly long, but it would be a tad bit depressing to actually look and see how long it has been...which of course I'll do as soon as this is posted), which I mean to rectify as soon as I look back and figure out where I left you all hanging. Right now, though, I'm writing on page 298 (the actual page, which I didn't have to look up even though it has been probably 2 weeks since I wrote a single word), and I'm scared to death to go back to writing. See, I think I need to cut out the last two pages I wrote, and that thought just about kills me! It's not that I like the stuff that needs to come out--and believe me, it REALLY needs to come out--in fact, quite the contrary. I can't stand what I wrote and know that taking it out will make the story better. The thing is, some little voice inside me keeps whispering that that's just the beginning, that I've lost the...muse, if you will.

I'm sure that I just need to open up my story and bite the bullet. Being the quote fanatic that I am, I have copied down line after line of writers saying that the wastebasket is the writer's best friend, and that the answer to writer's block is to simply sit down and write (is it a Freudian slip that I just wrote "writhe" instead of "write"?). Something, though, is just easier about picking up a crochet hook and ball of yarn...