My husband teases me that I’m got a family of squirrels in my head, chattering and pelting each other with acorns. It’s perfectly true I feel very distracted. For someone who’s a pantser in real life as well as writing, all of a sudden I’ve got to think of the future and organize the squirrels into formation. A cadre of them have taken revision notes from my Berkley editor Kate Seaver and are attempting to arrive at the same place in the manuscript by a significantly different route. Several artistic squirrels are contemplating favorite colors for a website design (Yay Frauke! Coming eventually: A few distinctly grumpy rodents are still doing laundry and cleaning the toilet and going to work every day, counting the days until summer vacation on their tiny paws. Some are working on proposal ideas for another Heat book. There is one mangy, desolate little furball who is curled up in a corner, forbidden to even think about Gemma and Andrew until Hart and Eden get squared away and sent again. And to top it off, they’re all on nut rations, because the squirrels were getting awfully fuzzy. They’ve been drinking Slim-Fast instead of pina coladas and they are not in a celebratory mood. They’re not rabid yet, but it’s getting close, although collectively they’ve lost 5 pounds—a mere drop in the bucket of fuzz.

So writing a blog post becomes a challenge. There is not much to say except the squirrels are leaping from tree limb to tree limb, hoping they don’t crash to earth. Squirrels don’t bounce.

What are your squirrels up to?