2 AM OVER-STIMULATION

Saturday, August 21, 2010

It's 2 am, and I really should be in bed.  My eyes were blurring about 4 hours ago, so why am I still here?  That seems to be the question of the hour.  I think I am over-stimulated, but it's not from coffee... I really don't drink much coffee.  I think it's from having too much on my mind.  I'm working on too many projects right now.  Truthfully, it seems about all I do is sit in front of this computer and write.  Oh yeah... here is the latest load-down...

I am currently working as a freelance reporter for a newspaper in Southern California.  While I do love "telling the story," writing feature stories require a lot of research.  I suppose I can't complain about that either, because I am a research hound.  The truth is... I LOVE IT!  However, it is time consuming.  Along with news journalism, I have my own writing/editorial business, and I stay busy with press releases, resume building, website content, editing, copywriting, and various other writing-related jobs.  In addition, I am ghostwriting a book for a health coach, which is also very time consuming, and trying to keep up with the 6 original screenplays that I am writing -- 2 have recently been optioned.  I am about to sign a contract to ghostwrite another book on finance, and I may be writing for an up-coming TV show that the Discovery Channel is negotiating.  The head writer has asked me to come on board, and if this goes into production, we will knock out 6 episodes.  Once those are completed, if the show moves into a 2-year contract, then I will be relocating to Nashville, where the show is going to be filmed.

I used to write a poem a day... Now it is a rare moment when I have time.  I really miss poetry.

I really need to visit the sandman...

Good night.

  For The Love of Books

I am of the firm opinion that we should have days dedicated each year to books, reading and authors.  In fact, perhaps an entire holiday should be named to celebrate authors and their writings!

Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room
piled high with cases in my father's name;
Piled high, packed large, --where, creeping in and out
among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse
between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats
of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first.
And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning's dark.
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning