19. August 2009 by Gore Wehner.

She sits atop my computer, her flowing white gown threatening to cloak the screen every time she laughs. Which is much too often.

“Certainly you didn’t mean to use the word ‘threatening,’ did you?” Her smile is sly, but her words soothe like honey on a sore throat. You can’t help but forgive her sardonic humor.

“Threatening fits.” I stop typing to glance at her. She crosses her legs and her dress’s train flops over my words. “You’re blocking the screen,” I say.

She giggles, but moves the organdy and lace out of my path. “You aren’t using me to your best advantage, you know. You’re writing about me instead of doing what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Oh yeah? What am I supposed to be doing?”

She sorts through her ruffles, staging them around my monitor until they resemble chrysanthemums. “Working on that novel. The one about the dead girl.”

“Lie down and close your eyes, then,” I joke.

She shakes her head as if I was a dog who didn’t obey her command to fetch. “You silly,” she says, sounding more like a three-year-old than someone who’s been around for thirty or so years.

“Okay. But I’m stuck. And you’re supposed to help me.” I sound like I’m chiding her, but she seems to understand. Her eyes soften and she pulls her hair over her shoulder.

“Then here’s what I’ve got for you. Something else has been going on with her. You have an idea of one of her problems, but I have another for you. It’s time to bring it out.”

What the heck is she talking about? “You aren’t making any sense. What other problem?”

She chuckles and she’s got that mischievous look again. The one where she knows she’s got me where she wants me. “Stop writing about me. Get to your story. Start with her aunt.”

“Her aunt?”

“Her aunt knows what’s going on. Trust me. And so will you, once you get out of here and back to work.” She stares at the tips of her hair, as if looking for split ends. Which is ridiculous. No muse of mine has problem hair. Especially not split ends.

She looks back up at me. “Go on.” She waves at me. “Bye.”

Okay.

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1. August 2009 by Gore Wehner.

A thank you goes out to Kirstin Cromm-Mills, author of the upcoming YA novel, The Sky Always Hears Me: And the Hills Don’t Mind. You can pre-order it on Amazon.com. Kirstin reviewed the first three chapters of my novel My Father’s Ghost and gave me a wonderful critique. I’ve made several changes, based on her questions and suggestions, and I know my novel is better for it. So a shout-out to you, Kirstin.

Also, happiness! An agent is interested in representing my novel Knucklebone. She said it grabbed her from the first paragraph and kept her reading. I will keep you posted.

I’ve submitted a mini-mystery to Woman’s World, a market I’ve been trying to break into for years. I’m also rewriting Deadly Waters and working on my latest novel, The Suicide of Natalie Greene. In case you’re asking, yes, I write every day. My goal is to write novels as a career, not a hobby. I’d love to attend book signings and someday be on the panel at a writer’s conference. I intend to write “how-to” articles for writing magazines. Oh, I have plans. Big plans. I am fully confident in pulling all this off, too. No matter how much chocolate I have to consume in order to have the energy to do it.

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