Zen and the art of lawn watering

I finished Bewitched & Betrayed on Saturday and emailed it to my editor in New York and my agent (who is usually in Denver, but is spending the month in New York having editor meetings, doing lunches, and running with Chutney the Wonder Dog in Central Park).

I know I have a list of your questions to answer, but I know you also like for me to tell you things I experience as a writer as I experience them. After all the purpose of my blog is to tell you about the writing experience of a still relatively newbie author: things I know, stuff I learned, and crap I found out the hard way.

This post is a combination of all of those. Yesterday, after I hit "Send" it started to happen. It happens when I finish every book, so I was expecting it, but it doesn't make it any easier. It's kinda a combination of exhaustion and empty nest syndrome. It also doesn't help matters any that I'm a workaholic. I've been working 60- to 70-hour weeks for the past nine months between having a full-time day job and writing Bewitched & Betrayed, and I was SOOOO looking forward to getting it off of my desk and into Anne's email inbox. And don't get me wrong, I am happy, but at the same time it's like my muse has packed her bags and caught the first flight to a sunny beach, leaving my workaholic self behind to wonder what the heck to do with myself. Do you know what I did after I emailed the manuscript? I vacuumed the entire house -- and it ain't a small house. Yes, it needed to be done, but jeez. I describe how I feel to people who ask as "twitchy."

So, basically I'm having to re-learn how to relax, act like a normal person, and socialize with humanity again, while dealing with not writing for three weeks. I desperately need the time to re-grow some brain cells that died in that last month of writing onslaught, but at the same time, writing isn't just what I do, a writer is who I am. So to stop writing suddenly like this makes me have a little "loss of identity" thing going. Going from hard-driving author, to normal person ain't an easy transition to make. It's one heck of a shock to the system. Fortunately, I've been through this before with every other book I've written, I know that this too shall pass. Fortunately, I have the most understanding husband. Derek, knows what I'm going through and is incredibly, unbelievably, and wonderfully supportive.

The title of the post came from some lovely therapy that just happened to be installed in our yard this week. In another year or so, we'll be selling the house we're in now, so we're doing a few things to make it more buyer-appealing. This past week we had the entire yard sodded with Zoysia grass. This stuff is incredible -- when it reaches its full growth, it's like having a thick, plush rug for grass. The greyhounds love it. And for the next month until it gets fully established, Derek and I will have to water it at least once a day. (Derek refers to its present state as "Frankengrass.") We bought sprinkers, but found what works best is good old-fashioned watering by hand with a hose and sprayer attachment. Late yesterday, Derek did the front yard, and I watered the back. It took me about an hour and a half to get all of the turf nice and squishy with water. You water bare-footed. And when the water squishes between your toes, it's time to move on to the next section. And watering and toe squishing gave me time to think. Lovely thing, thinking. Calming and relaxing -- precisely what this workaholic author on forced vacation needs.

Lisa