My silence has been deafening, I know.
While I have been writing and living up a storm, I haven't been recording any of it for you.
My writing class at StoryStudio Chicago started last week and since then, I've been sitting down to write quite a bit, but character sketches, essays about mustaches and quick writing prompt responses to Big Lebowski quotes are things I'd like to keep to myself, my instructor and the entire class of Creative Writing on Tuesday from 7:00pm-9:30pm (Shout out!) for now. Oh, and Andy, who got to read the mustache thing. (Is it wrong that I kind of love "moustache" more? Does that make me British? I hope not. Perhaps a poser. Or poseur, if you will.)
As the entire city rushes outdoors to breathe in the first bits of unfrosted air with great, gasping gulps, I'm hunkering down, reading my Anne Lamott (thanks, Judy!) and trying to find inspiration in Pet Milk, which happened to be one of our first reading assignments; successfully flaunting how woefully inept I find myself--out of practice and flabby with preoccupation.
So please excuse while I tighten and tone. The end result will be mutually beneficial, I assure you.