Writing Bug Aptly Named

Did you know that bed bugs are a national epidemic? So said the evening news last night. Thousands of dollars can be spent trying to eradicate them once they creep or are carried in to your home. They make red sores that itch constantly.

What do writing and bed bugs have in common? The bite. The itch. When the writing bug bites, you best tend to it because it won't go away. When I try to calculate how many hours I've sat at the computer thinking, then typing, then pressing delete—I've probably spent thousands of dollars in lost income trying to scratch that itch.

Scratching an itch satisfies only temporarily. Many nights as I head for bed I've sworn my computer will stay in sleep mode much longer than I will, only to find I'm right back here the next day pecking away.

Do you know of an exterminator for the writing bug?

Keep living between the ditches,
Betty

Got a book in you?

They say everyone's got a book in them. That would be fine with me, but my problem is that I've not only gotten one book out of me, but I have at least two more in me. (Okay, four!)

The bug hit when I was in the second grade. I hid my manuscript under my bed. The notebook paper with large penciled letters was off-limits to my younger sister, and no one else looked under my bed. Fortunately, I suppose, we moved a lot when I was young, so the book didn't stay under the bed long. When I finally dragged it out on moving day, I skimmed the pages. In a flash of insight I recognized the plot: the soap opera my mother watched daily.

Maybe an unoriginal start, but a diary followed; then reams of stories, poetry, essays, and lessons. The writing bug, fattened by a steady diet of library books, was worming its way into my neurons. I was hooked.

A college major in English, a couple of post-graduate degrees, two rejected book manuscripts, a number of magazine and curriculum-related articles, and a career in teaching and publishing followed. Then it happened. A publisher said yes.

Living Between the Ditches: When God Makes No Sense will be published in June. I'd love to sit on my laurels, knowing my grandchildren can order POD, but the bug is biting again. I was finishing a household task this evening when my thoughts drifted to the main character in my next book. He was playing on the stairwell in his home when he was a little boy.

I'd love to tell you more, but I've got to write the story down before I forget it.

Live between the ditches, 

Betty