I’m a bad mother.  I’ve orphaned more blogs than I can remember the passwords to.  A trail of broken words, one post here, another post deleted.

This has got to stop.

My husband, Cadillac, doesn’t understand blogging.  Facebook, with its stalkerish “XXX is now commenting on So & So’s page” freaks him out.  “Why do people need to know about this stuff?” he asks.

Well, they don’t.  But I like telling them.  I’m a writer, and writing frees all the niggling little tummy aches that otherwise rear up in the middle of the night.

Besides, ever since people found out I sold a book, people have been popping out of nowhere to ask how I did it.  Instead of answering every email, I figured it’d be easier to put it here.  I’m going to write down the type of things about the business of writing that I was Googling a year ago.

So read, or not. But as long as you’ve read to the end of this post, you might as well stay.