Pages Written... 11

Woke up at 2:30, went to the bathroom, then tossed and turned for an hour as a storyline pulled itself together in my head.

Not, of course, the story I've been slaving over.

Finally I gave up and got up, pulled on sweatpants and hubby's socks, a flannel shirt over my nightgown, and came out to write.

One single page synopsis and ten pages of chapter one later, and I'm still not sure what it is I'm writing. Only that I'm writing it, and it's coming easy. Just like that, out of the blue.

It's not chick lit, it's not category, I'm afraid I've stumbled into the Women's Fiction arena. I know where I want it to go, and that is more toward the humorous side of things, but it's not about a single twenty or thirty-something who has a penchant for expensive coffee drinks and cheap glassware; instead its about the sandwich generation; a woman and her family, including her mother; and how this woman manages the transition into the second half of her life; what she drops along the way, what she picks back up, and how her changes manage to change the family.

If chick lit is tampons and condoms, and getting even, then I guess what I'm writing is more hormone therapy and viagra, and letting go. Hmm. Should be interesting!

But now I'm buzzed on a double espresso, and written out for the moment. Can't go to sleep, but have too busy a day to not even try to grab some sleep.

So I guess I'd better try.