A New Year

I know I've been away for a while. Hopefully there are still some who come by, on the off chance that I've posted, but I certainly can't blame anyone who's stopped entirely. I've been horrible about posting, just as I've been horrible about updating my website (although in all honesty, there isn't anything really to update) and keeping my Facebook page current (my professional one. My personal page is still about as active as it's always been.) I tweet on occasion, but days can and do go by without my so much even thinking about tweeting. I've lost a few followers, although not nearly as many as I probably should have lost.

But it's not just social networking that's gone by the wayside for me. I haven't written much these last few months, not really since I was pushing to get Windemere written. I do have two projects out on submission and am waiting to hear back on them, but other than that, I've done almost nothing as far as new words go. I know I'm not supposed to admit that, because who knows who's reading (such as an editor or an agent. Hey, you never know,) but the truth of the matter is that I've taken an very unexpected break. I just don't have the urge to write. There are a few ideas rumbling around in my brain, but I just haven't been able to make myself put them down on paper. And even if I did, the words just don't come.


The events of December 14, up in Newtown, have really gotten to me. I can't explain it. I don't know why. But I have to confess, I've cried at some point ever day since the shootings. I've avoided the news because I just don't want to hear the endless rhetoric on gun control - which would have been a moot point in Newtown. Those guns were legally purchased and a background check would have been on the killer's mother, not the killer. And I will NOT name him. Ever.

My heart breaks for each one of the families of the 26 gunned down by that man. But, there is one little boy in particular who has grabbed hold of me and wrapped around me in such a way that I choke up just thinking about him now.

Noah Pozner was six years old and in so many ways, reminds me of my own boy. And for whatever reason, the moment I saw Noah's picture, my heart broke in a way that I cannot explain. I hurt so much for him, for his family, that I felt sick reading his obituary, and yet, I've read everything about him that I can find. And the more I read, the more real he becomes. And the more real he becomes, the more I wish with everything I have that I could go back and somehow keep the tragedy from happening.

How can one little boy, whom I've never met, affect me the way it has? How can you cry for someone you've never met, someone you'd probably never meet? Why does this one little boy stand out from all the others for me? I can't explain it. Maybe I have no right to cry over him, but I do. Even today. I look at my own little boy and I think, "He and Noah would have gotten on like a house on fire." They are so much alike.

I remember the Oklahoma City bombing. I remember Columbine. I remember VA Tech. But none of them hit me the way what happened in Newtown did. I think it's mostly because I have a seven year old son, who is in first grade, and I've never once really worried about his safety in school. I now do. When he went back that Monday, there was a police car in the driveway of his school. And I wasn't at all sure I even wanted to send him to school.

It's taken me a while to come out of the funk I've been in. I found a blog written by Noah Pozner's grandmother, and her stories, her recollections, of Noah make me feel as if I know him. They make me tear up, as do the pictures she posts. He was such a beautiful little boy. My heart still aches for his family, but the stories make me smile and bring back a little light into a world that feels like it'd been so much darker. And it's helped in so many ways. I know I will never forget him, nor will I forget his impact on my life.

So, I think where I used to concentrate this blog on writing, I'm going to write about a little bit of everything, let everyone in a little more. Share a little more of myself. I've begun to feel the urge to write again, although I'm not exactly sure what I want to write. I'm not sure what my next book will be, but I'm looking forward to writing it, whatever it turns out to be.