Please excuse OG for having been absent...

I feel the need to apologize. I know I have been silent for days. In the old days, my response would have been to give you a string of excuses, one of which would surely soften your hearts despite my having shirked my responsibility towards you, (yes, you, you personally), this blog, and the rest of my readers.

But I am being taught that my excuses will not be accepted, so there is no point in reciting them. And that, then, is why I have been silent here. I had a project to finish and my Master was fed up with the delays. Oh, he has been understanding despite his growls. He knew I had been very ill. But enough was enough. I had set deadlines for myself and had been late on most of them.

The project was a story. A very long story. Longer than I had expected and longer than anything I have previously written. Most of it was written but the pieces needed to be knitted together and the writing polished and synonyms sought and my lifelong habit of never quite finishing anything fought.

So this weekend was it. And Sunday I spent at least 8 hours over the course of the day pulling my story together into what I hope is the penultimate version. I do think it needs one more round of editing, just to be sure, but by now I have lost all perspective. So I will let it sit for a few days. I'll let it marinate and then go back and tidy up the last stray strings. And hope someone will want to publish it.

Meanwhile, I am exhausted. Part of that, I know, is from the switch to Daylight Savings Time. People with SAD have an even worse time making the adjustment than do most people, and in this direction (losing an hour) it's even worse. But so be it.

There may be something else, though. It suddenly occurred to me today that I could be suffering from a case of postpartum depression. I know, I know, it wasn't like giving birth to a whole book. But it still hurt coming out. It's pretty wearing on a girl's body!

Whatever it is, the well is now dry.
No sparks.
No flashes of brilliance.
No traces of creativity.
Nothing.

It frustrates me. It scares me. But I have been ordered back to my notebooks to look for inspiration and undeveloped ideas. And I have been scolded for not observing the new bedtime my Master has set for me. So I will read and think and rest and open myself to the scents of sex and inspiration that are blowing into Washington on the warming spring breezes.

And then I will sit down and write.

Including about the beautiful new flogger my Master designed just for me...