It’s confession time.

I’ve had several people make comments about how long it’s been since I’ve posted – comments that I brushed off, as people do when they don’t want to be confronted by the truth. I even had one friend tell me she finally took my blog off of her watch list because she thought I was never going to write again (“I’ll write something soon,” I thought, my denial fully intact). But only this morning did one of those persons link it to my physical well-being, as in, “I’ve really got to call Tina to find out if she’s okay, because it’s been so long since ‘Jane Doe’ has been updated.”

Jeez. My guilt meter is in the red.

Be pleased to know that as the blog title asserts that I am alive and well. So why the absence?

Well, I’ll tell you.

I fell in love, I relapsed and I had a baby. In that order.

Shocking, I know. Especially in the small amount of time that I’ve been absent.

I can hear your mind now, thinking…doesn’t a baby usually take nine months (ten, actually) or did I miss some new technological advancement?

No, your CNN setting didn’t fail you. It’s not that kind of baby. Or that kind of relapse, of the Lindsay –Mary Kate – Brittany variety.

I fell in love with someone…well, someones, plural, more accurately. Now, don’t let your mind go there, it’s not like that. None of these people actually exist. I got hooked on a book.

(Pause. A book, you say? A book kept her away this long?)

Yes, but see, you must understand that books are my particular brand of heroin (and if you recognize that line, you know which book I’m talking about so DON’T TELL!). I don’t read books; I inhale them, absorb them and live in them. They make my brain race and alter my rational abilities. This book did all of those things (no, I’m not going to tell you what book it is because I’m utterly embarrassed by it). And that led to my relapse because…(deep breath here, confession is good for me, confession is good for me, confession is good…)

…it’s actually a series of books. A series of very thick books. No, it’s not Harry Potter - I’ve already gone through those. For many years I’ve been able to be pretty good about reining in this reading addiction of mine, not letting it overtake me entirely. I mean sure, I had a couple of late nights where I just couldn’t put one down, and regretted it the next morning, but for the most part I had it under control. I even purposefully did not read a few books that I might not be able to control myself with (especially if they were in a series). So overall I felt that I was doing really well.

Until I read these books. Major relapse. I raced and re-raced through these books for about a month in any spare moments; moments that used to be dedicated to you, dear reader, and to writing this blog.

(Wait a minute, you say. It only took you a month….what happened to the other two months?)

Well, like I said, I birthed a baby. Of sorts.

I wrote a book.

See, in the process of reading this series of books and checking out some websites dedicated to these books I found something called fan fiction. I’d never heard of such a thing, but obviously millions of other people have. It’s where people take someone else’s characters – obviously, Harry Potter is the favorite, but Sawyer from “Lost” has a huge following also – and these fans write their own stories. I know, I know, it’s absolutely ridiculous and an utter waste of time. And ninety-five percent of the millions of stories out there are garbage. I mean, really, really bad writing. Although, if I were English teacher I would probably be glad that my students were trying to write something. With the emphasis on the “trying” part.

But then there’s the five percent that is actually pretty good, with realistic plot lines and good character development. You just have to know which sites prescreen their submissions and have some standards about what they’ll post. And I happened to come upon one of those sites – maybe it was chance, maybe it was ordained – when it was posting an open submission period.

I thought – you know, I could submit a story. I really could. I’d thought a lot about these books; they had spoken to me in a personal way, they’d impacted my life, and I’d thought a lot about the characters. I’d actually scribbled down in a notebook a couple of scenes that I’d dreamt up. I started thinking about where I’d take the story, if it were mine to write.

So I submitted the first chapter. It got selected. (It actually got selected “with honors” but you know, I don’t want to sound too proud over something so truly ridiculous).

And that, dear reader, is where I’ve been the last couple of months. Writing a book. It can never be published, but boy did I have fun. Thirteen chapters and 35,000 words later the book is done – well, as done as it will ever be. Because then the real author’s final book came out, and now that I know how it really ends, I’ve stopped writing my version of how it could end.

But people liked what I wrote; it got really good fanfiction reviews - which mean nothing since the people are all biased, but it sure felt good.

The best thing about the whole (ridiculous) process is that removed a mental road block to writing my real book, the kind that I could publish and maybe even make a few bucks. I’ve had it on the back burner for about a half a year, working it over and over in my head. But I’ve been resistant to put it down in black and white because you know, who am I to think I could write a book? What a dream.

Nope. No longer a dream. I’ve already written one, and people even liked it. One book down, half a dozen more to go.

But the next project is only a 1500 word article. Pssh. What’s 1500 words when I’ve already written 35,000? I’ll try not to stay away too long. I missed y’all, too…all six of you that actually read this thing!