Please. Can't you see I'm deep in thought? I am contemplating deep matters of my book and why, after 20 minutes of walking in this bleak weather, this dog won't poop.

If you’re like me, I bet you’re wondering how I’m doing on that memoir of mine. I keep asking myself everyday, “So, Lorna, how’s that book coming along?” I can be quite evasive when I want to be…even when I don’t want to be.

How long ago was it that I pulled the reins back on this blog so I could pay some serious attention to organizing my manuscript? One? Two? I can’t remember. I live in the present, not the past. I’m lucky if I can remember what happened this morning (I don’t, so there’s no point in asking me–but I vaguely remember a swimming pool and wheat grass juice). I’m sure I walked Scrappy and he didn’t poop. That kind of thing registers with me.

Where was I? Oh yes! You and I were wondering about my “book.” The quotation marks are necessary because the “book” is still more of a concept than a reality. But I have made some progress. I feel it’s only fair to all of us (and by “us” I mean “me,” too) to divulge my “progress” so far (again, more conceptual than real).

Come one. How hard can it be to write a book? It's just words, right? I use them all the time.

I’ve been writing my wonky life stories for over eleven years, generating lots of material. But it’s scattered in various places. I’ve been trying to organize these stories I’ve saved in the approximately 133 sub-folders on my computer under the main folder entitled “Writing.” I also have 57 half-filled notebooks with hand-written responses to writing prompts and another 18 “self-discovery” workbooks I’ve filled in over the years. Golly, I’m obsessed…passionate…prolific when it comes to my life. I’ve also copied stories and saved them in numerous folders but I’m not sure if they are identical or different versions. Sorting all this out and not knowing if any of it will go in the “book” is very time-consuming. I often end up tackling organizing all this material for 10 minutes, then playing Majong for hours.

Meet my newest "peeps." Don't let them fool you; they're tile sharks.

All of the posts about my life that are on my blog also need organization, re-writing, and more editing than a love letter written while completely drunk (come on, who hasn’t tried that at least once?). I’ve written a lot of posts. Have you noticed that, too? I swear, I wasn’t on any illegal drugs when I was posting like a freaking maniac…blogging pro late last summer through winter. There’s a lot of great material there that I want to include in the “book,” but configuring it all into my “book” is very confusing. Plus I re-read those posts and I’m having a hard time believing all that stuff happened to one person, even it it was me. It did, but when you (and by “you” I totally meant “me”) put it all together like that, it is sort of preposterous…implausible…freaking amazing.

Maybe having too much material is something I shouldn’t gripe about as a  wanna-be author. Having too much must be better than having nothing, right?

I need to turn my Web Cam off. It serves no purpose to see me after a hard day Writer's-Avoidance.

In the having nothing department, I don’t have a title for the “book.” This really bugs me. I believe the “book” has to have a title before I can really get to work on it. It’s like you can’t really bond with your new puppy, kitten or baby until you give the critter a name. My “book” needs a name. The quest for a catchy, quirky, memorable, perfect title is preoccupying lots of my brain cells. These brain cells are, thus, unavailable for other (some might say “critical”) tasks of daily living like grooming (me, not Scrappy), food preparation, and actual writing. Maybe the title will come to me while I’m writing, but I can’t seem to write new material because I haven’t settled on a title. I’m dizzy enough without being caught in an infinite loop. So I catch up on  programs I taped on the DVR or neat shows on Netflix and wait for inspiration. I’m beginning to think that Team Inspiration has called off its search for me (and there I was, plain as day, on my living room sofa).

This is what happens when you wait too long for Team Inspiration to find you, give up, and take matters into your own hands. I'm hoping to avoid this situation.

Meanwhile, I’ve made an appearance in the blog-o-sphere by posting a couple of times a week and by reading your blogs. This just makes me feel lonely, though. The life of an author (even one without a “book” or a title) is isolated. Blogging and telling my stories was fun. Sorting through the stories I’ve already told and trying to impose some structure to them is B.O.R.I.N.G. I miss interacting and joking around with you. I feel like I broke up with you to pursue my career but my career isn’t very fulfilling. At least not now.

It's too late. I've made my choice. My "book" comes first. Now leave while you can still resist my overpowering seductive Scorpio Vibe. But, if you have any good ideas for a title, let me know.

I know. I know. I haven’t found the right balance yet. But what do you (and by “you” I guess I mean “I”) expect from a gal whose been dizzy for over 11 years? Letting creativity flow effortlessly is really hard work–especially when you have no one to bounce ideas off of (and by “you,” you know who I mean, right?).

Yeah, Honey. I know the feeling.