I’m so excited about my current novel. I’ve absolutely loved the research. I can’t wait to have my protagonist’s life unfold before my eyes. I see the scenes in my head, I envision the release of its publication, I feel the pen in my hand and the smile on my face as I do a book signing.
But for some reason I just can’t sit down and write the thing. I was even COOKING this morning instead of writing. And I HATE cooking. Everyone I know knows I hate cooking. Even my milkman knows and I’ve never met him. It just oozes out of me: "I HATE COOKING!" I wonder if finding myself standing over my frying pan sautéing the eggplant I just had to pluck from my garden this morning is any indication that I have some kind of writer’s block. Yesterday I tried to write, and suddenly I felt my toenails growing. I just HAD to go trim them right NOW. Then of course, the polish was chipping and that just couldn’t be left alone.
In a few minutes I am meeting one of my sisters for lunch. I will have successfully flittered away another morning of my best creative time to eggs plants, personal grooming, and moving around my stereo components (something I didn’t mention before, but it had to be done). I hope when I get home from lunch I won’t need a nap too badly.
But then, maybe lying down will help me visualize writing the novel just a little bit better.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
So I woke up this morning with a revelation. I had to start my blog. I’d gotten books from the library on it a while back. Obviously that didn’t help, if I just now got the revelation.
I could start by giving my idea on solving the world’s problems, but then after that, what more would there be to say? I’ll have to save that for nearer the end of this sudden blog phase. Hopefully that won’t be next week.
I will tell about myself instead, as a kind of introduction. I have four nearly-16-year-olds who need their driver licenses. 14 years ago when I was potty training my quadruplets, strangers in the grocery store would ask, “My, what are you going to do when they all start driving?” I blew them off then. I was too busy looking for the nearest bathroom. But now it is upon us. But they can’t drive yet because my husband lost his job a year ago. And I haven’t sold any of my novels yet, so we don’t have any money. Part-time magazine editors don’t make much money. 16-year-old quadruplets cost money. Especially when they start driving. The insurance, the permits, the driving school, the new fender, the new fender, the new fender, the new fender, the Valium.
Meanwhile, we get more together time in the car as I chauffer them around. Which is great, if I’m speaking to them. If I’m upset, like two days ago when the new job offered my husband was withdrawn, then I don’t feel much like asking them how their day’s been. I’m just trying not to melt down and crash through a fence or into a light post. Because we don’t have money for the new fender.
But today is a new day. I’m fine. I’m speaking again. They can tell me how their day is going. We’ll find out together. Today is Saturday, chore day. We sleep in. We hang out. We clean the house. And I start my blog.
I could start by giving my idea on solving the world’s problems, but then after that, what more would there be to say? I’ll have to save that for nearer the end of this sudden blog phase. Hopefully that won’t be next week.
I will tell about myself instead, as a kind of introduction. I have four nearly-16-year-olds who need their driver licenses. 14 years ago when I was potty training my quadruplets, strangers in the grocery store would ask, “My, what are you going to do when they all start driving?” I blew them off then. I was too busy looking for the nearest bathroom. But now it is upon us. But they can’t drive yet because my husband lost his job a year ago. And I haven’t sold any of my novels yet, so we don’t have any money. Part-time magazine editors don’t make much money. 16-year-old quadruplets cost money. Especially when they start driving. The insurance, the permits, the driving school, the new fender, the new fender, the new fender, the new fender, the Valium.
Meanwhile, we get more together time in the car as I chauffer them around. Which is great, if I’m speaking to them. If I’m upset, like two days ago when the new job offered my husband was withdrawn, then I don’t feel much like asking them how their day’s been. I’m just trying not to melt down and crash through a fence or into a light post. Because we don’t have money for the new fender.
But today is a new day. I’m fine. I’m speaking again. They can tell me how their day is going. We’ll find out together. Today is Saturday, chore day. We sleep in. We hang out. We clean the house. And I start my blog.
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