Time flies

Holy cow! What's happening to March? I feel as if I haven't written anything meaningful since December. I think having a co-writer would be handy about now. I'd get to the point where I've got the book moving along and then stalled out. "Here," I say to my blessed partner in crime, " take the next 50 pages." How generous of me. And she  would write us out of the problem situation, then I would pick up again, refreshed by her ingenious creation and buoyed by her cheerleading:  "Now, take it back and give me drama, pathos, comedy." I will praise her work, and then I will give her all that and more.

But for now, I have to write my own book, all by myself, sitting by the sunny window where my tomato seedlings interest me more than my plot. Why is it I have all sorts of suggestions for everyone else, but when it comes to myself, I have no clue what to do?  That's why I need my critique group, which I will have to miss this week due to a visit from my mom.  Maybe I'll make Mom read my draft and see what she has to say. But first I have to tell her she must cheer me on when she's done reading, even if she hates the book. That's the rule.