further evidence I’m cracked

So, hardly has my editor had a chance to thumb through my completed manuscript (which, despite the stormy multiple re-routings to and from Memphis, did arrive), and dear Amy Haskell et al. have retired from my frontal lobes for a relaxing vacation in my hypothalamus (at least, until I start on the sequel!), then the next set of people I’ve been sublimating decide that they’ve had quite enough waiting and start clamoring for their story.

You see, back in July, when I was about half-way through CONFESSIONS OF A (SECRET) SOCIETY GIRL, I got another one of those ephemeral new ideas. However, this one was slightly less ephemeral than SSG, which began as a dinner conversation with Sailor Boy that went like this:

Me: You know, I hate THE SKULLS. Someone should really do a book about how secret societies really are.
Him: That wouldn’t be interesting.

Well, contrary as I am, I knew it would, and set about convincing him. (He is at last, he admits, convinced.)

This book was a little bit different. I was getting ready for work and walking from the bathroom of my apartment to the kitchen, when the narrator started talking to me. Actually, she wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to someone else. But, she was talking. A lot. And the other person was arguing back. They proceeded to do this for the next half an hour, as I left my apartment, walked to the Metro, traveled to Dupont Circle, and headed to work. Eventually, I wrote down 300 words of the premise, and they shut up.

For a day and a half. (During which I met Sailor Boy for dinner and told him about this idea. He thought it sounded cool. Wonder if that’s the death knell.)

At last, frustrated I gave them an ultimatum: leave me alone while I finish this book, and I’ll do you as soon as I’m done.

They, um, took it literally. So yesterday I wrote three pages.

Somebody stop me!