I HAVE WRITER'S BLOG

"AND WIIIIIIILD HORSES/ COULDN'T DRAG ME AWAY..."

That's a pretty big statement, Sir Jagger. Just having these lyrics going in the background (newfound Stones obsession), it makes a girl ponder what would be so damn enticing that wild horses couldn't drag ME away. I have a tendency to think that if wild horses were in any way attached to me, I wouldn't fight them. But *let's say* I did... what would it be for? I'm not thinking ideas. I mean, nationalism? Give me a break. Drag me away. For the sake of a political belief? Naw. Too cliche. Wild horses, wild horses, hm.... I think it all comes down to the sordid drug that has plagued my life: caffeine. If I am in line at Starbucks, it is fair to surmise that wild horses (but how many are we talking about here?) couldn't drag me away. This is important to know. I mean, I like to think of myself as a principled person, and I suppose that by now, I should have the perimeters of these principles drafted- traced, per se. So there it is. Lalalalalalalatte. And wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Now that we have that all-important issue squared away... The cd has moved to the next track, and I'm finding my writing COMPLETELY compromised by The Rolling Stones' "Best Of" album. So much for music being your muse; it's overtaking my train of thought, because now I'm plagued by an overwhelming shame of my normalcy. I mean, if I'm in a bar and someone asks me my name, I'm just "Lilly G". From time to time, I console myself, thinking that the silent h's ("not one- but TWO!") are a little mysterious and unusual. But there's someone somewhere who bats her eyelashes (although the asker is gazing at her body because no doubt she's annoyingly beautiful too) and goes "Me? Oh, I'm just Ruby Tuesday." (bat bat, look down)

Back on track.

The SDSU Writers' Conference turned out to be absolutely energetic and amazing. I mean, now that I come to think of it, nothing extraordinary happened. Ideas and hopes were floating down the hallway of the hotel like little soap bubbles. It was a high just to walk into the place. I met inspiring people who were lots of fun and put a human face on what had become, for me, a very electronic and dispassionate publishing industry. It renewed my passion for working with writers - it was just the recharge that I needed.

That said, I'm still part-time and nothing in my life is sorted out any more than a week ago. But I suppose that's the best feeling you can have: Realizing that there is work to be done, income to be made, a void romantic platter to be filled ;) -- and -- knowing that you have 'no right' to feel so settled, so happy, so clearminded, you do it anyways. I can't get no satisfaction? I don't think so.