Today at work, faced with the choice of either organizing Pokémon cards or trying to read on the sly while working checkout (BIG no-no), I turned to a third option. I found some blank paper and began writing my seventh novel.

On May 25, 2001, I wrote the final chapter of my sixth novel, which was fourth in a series. I recently realized it has been a damn long time since I wrote anything for that series, and since I rabidly enjoy it and had been intending to eventually write a Book 5, I began. Today. Unexpectedly.

Not a very good idea. The steady stream of customers (how dare they!) interrupted my thoughts, but worse yet was the strange euphoria filling me up from the inside. Don't get me wrong; usually the writer-euphoria is GOOD. I've enjoyed it many times in the past. But if I'm at work, it generally isn't acceptable to bounce around and glow behind the checkout counter. I did my best to contain my aura of "Holy shit." I was not very successful.

Five pages.

I wrote five pages before the end of the workday, that's it. It was in tiny writing, but only five pages totally turned my day on its ear. Suddenly it was lunch break time. Suddenly break was over. I got back up there, rang up more customers, wrote some more. And when someone came to relieve me, I honestly didn't know why. I thought they wanted me to go work in another section, when in fact it was time to count the drawer and go home!

While waiting for a credit card transaction to go through, I doodled a picture of the main character of the story at the top of the page. She's in a little picture frame, grinning madly and giving the little "peace/victory" sign, with a talk-bubble saying "I'm back!"

She's back all right.

Ivy is back in a big way. And I hope I live through this book.