I’m baacckk…

It’s not just television shows like Better Call Saul that can take a two-year hiatus. A blog can, too. I only wish my return was as highly anticipated.

Here it is, two months into 2020. Since finishing Sexsage in September, 2018, I haven’t written. I’ve kept a toe in the pond by doing a final edit on my novel Outlaws but that’s about it. I’m hoping I needed the break to come back stronger. Kind of like Better Call Saul.

I started 2018 with the intention of writing, producing, printing and selling Sexsage. Although I made some mistakes – all fixable – I succeeded in what I’d set out to do. At the end of 2018 life did that flip flop thing it does and I felt uncertain and untethered, needing to take a breath. I decided to step back from writing to devote myself to my health and well-being.

2019 became the Year of the Purge. I gave up sugar and carbs (Hello, Keto), which led to purging sixty pounds, along with losing sciatica and other pains. My energy level is off the charts. I have cleaned, organized and emptied unwanted items from every inch of my house. It’s been a lot of fun.

I’ve run out of things to clean. I find myself making new projects for myself. I know what this is. This is pre-writing procrastination. It’s taken me months to sit down and write this blog post. My next novel is beating at my brain. And I want to move all the framed pictures from a hall-long counter and hang them instead before starting.

See what I mean?

The next book is a historical, so there’s research involved. I’m going to attempt two points of view for the first time. I don’t even know if I can still do this thing again, this writing. I know what’s involved, what it takes, the joy of the perfect word or phrase, the agony of critique. Yet, after a two-year break, the process feels fresh.

My attitude about my writing has always been – why not me? I’ve had no illusions about the depth of my talents. I know I’m probably more of a Solieri than an Amadeus. But I read and enjoy plenty of Solieri-grade novels. So, why not me?

I know I can write another novel.

I walked in and out of my garage for a couple of days as I contemplated how to best clean and organize it. It seemed an insurmountable job. It demanded a purge. I let myself be overwhelmed, not in an anxious way, but consciously. I let it pour over me, looking at the big picture, the long view. That makes it easier to break it down and then break it down again. Pretty soon I had doable tasks. It’s a process that works for me. It’s the story behind my name, learning to build things a brick at a time. It works. You should see my beautiful garage.

I’ll use the same method to write my next book. In my mind, it’s written already. I know the story; beginning, middle and end. Now the pieces need to come together. A novel no agent can resist must be written. I say that every time. I have faith. Every time.

I want to enjoy everything, whether it’s tackling a DIY project, working social media, writing a book, or cleaning the kitchen. 2020 is going to be full of fun and surprises. It’ll be nothing if not interesting, that’s certain.

It’s time to get to it.

I leave you with these words from Jodi Picoult. Something all of us procrastinating, hiatus-taking writers should remember.

You can always edit a bad page.
You can’t edit an empty page.

Stay tuned.

You can edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.


5 thoughts on “Finally

  1. John Drake

    Keto diets are amazing!
    I just try to have a low carb diet, 100 gms carbs per day .
    Great to read your blog again. I also love Better Call Saul

  2. Nancy E

    Loved to see you writing about your re-entry, and so glad to hear your voice online again… I can feel it, this next chapter is going to bring goodies… And I still admire and covet your Keto experience… Brava, Brixie!

  3. George Williams

    Hi Brix. Always good to see your writings and your development if style.I hope you are well and holding up under the COVID-19 strain.

    I thought you might be interested in taking a look at some excerpts for a work of fiction I’m roughing out whenever I can. Here its a piece of the prolog and a taste of Chapter One. The working title is FUBAR. It’s the 2-1/2nd draft. Let me know what you think.



    Before a Washington crowd of millions, a diminutive black woman rises from her chair to deliver her acceptance speech for becoming the first black woman President of the United States. She speaks steadily and clearly; she speaks a new truth, one that some find hard to accept. A rifle’s distant crack causes a few in the crowd to turn and look for the source, while an assassin’s high-impact bullet flies straight at the figure of the new President of the United States. Unerring and unstoppable, it cannot miss. It sails directly toward her heart, irresistible and deadly. The copper-clad bullet penetrates and then passes cleanly through the new President’s spare frame to strike and instantly kill the outgoing President who is seated directly behind her. She pauses for only a moment, then continues her message steadily, unshaken and unharmed by the attack. A mile away, in a secured underground bunker, the new President stands alone behind a podium in a small room painted completely green. She is surrounded by 104 small cameras, each on their own orbit, tracking her, following every motion. She is speaking to the nation.


    The White House is a centerpiece of deception. Behind the portraits of dead generals lie hidden corridors and secret panels. The invisible passages between walls of every public hallway are lined with observation stations, weapons ports and electronic nexus. Bookcases with invisible doorways lead to concealed soundproof chambers whose walls have stories to tell. Horrible stories. Secret stories. Any President of the United States seated at his desk in the Oval Office is exactly thirteen steps away from rescue in case of danger. Nine of those steps take the POTUS to a door blended into the curved wall. It has no door handle. Four steps more takes the leader to an elevator with blast-resistant sliding doors where it is whisked downward for seven levels to a tunnel and a mag-lev train capable of traveling in excess of 300 miles per hour. Negative pressure in the tunnel insures that nothing harmful can enter the special traveling compartment made for the President.


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