WRITTEN SUNDAY, posted Monday…
Okay, so I’m at the café in Barnes and Noble again. Not too many cute boys today, though I do see a few familiar faces.
I didn’t write too much today, maybe four or five pages, but they’re four or five GOOD pages and I’ve figured out (I think) how to salvage a good bit of the stuff I already wrote. So that’s good. I also did some plotting, and I know it won’t work out exactly the way I have it written, but it is certainly a direction in which to head. And haha, man, you gotta love an outline that says for chapters 16 and 17 – WILD, RAMPANT SEX.
I also described my hero as “the Superman of Smut.” I’ll leave it to you, my doves, to determine what exactly that means, but considering my recent Superman fetish, I think you can make a guess.
The Superman of Smut. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
We watched 28 Weeks Later last night and I was entertained and a little grossed out but I didn’t like it as much as I liked 28 Days Later. That movie scared the bejesus out of me. I did, however have a nightmare in which I was in a revolving door while a red-eyed Robert Carlyle with blood spewing from his mouth tried to trap me, then get at me using his all-access pass. Now, normally if I had a dream about Robert Carlyle chasing me, I’d let myself be caught, because, umm…yum. But not in this dream. I wasn’t terrified, I mean, I didn’t wake in a cold sweat and I don’t recall even bein that scared. I ended up hiding in an attic. It wasn’t as bad or weird a dream as the one in which Dean Winchester stole my hat and made fun of me, but it was way less good than the dream I had about wild, rampant sex with Superman, or the one in which Dean and Sam were in my purple Impala, which totally rocked.
My mind is a constantly interesting place.
But back to the business at hand – I think I’m finally on track with this book, which is ironic of course since the holiday rush is beginning which means lots of work and cooking and cleaning and kids off school and therefore, mucho less time to write. Good thing I have such a long deadline, huh? ☺ I should actually be able to get my proposal in much before the deadline, though, which will make me feel better, in case the horrible thing happens and my editor hates the idea and tells me I suck and I need to write something else. Gawd. Well, at least I’d have time to do it.
I figure if I can’t be honest here, on this blog, though, I’m not going to be honest anyplace else. I love writing. I love my job. I love writing for Spice, I love writing all sorts of books, I love seeing them on the shelves. I love being able to write in my pajamas (though I never, ever do – I might wear pajama-esque clothes but I always, always shower in the morning and wear something different than what I slept in.) I love the rush that comes from creating a world and dialogue, and when I’m so deep inside a book I can’t wait to get to it. I love discovering my characters.
The downside to all this stuff is there’s a lot of self-doubt that goes along with it. Am I on track? What happens if the words don’t come? Worse, what happens if they do but they’re bad and I can’t fix them? What if people hate my books? Just as terrifying but in a different way, what if they love them? Being loved is a big responsibility. What if I can’t live up to the expectations? What if, no matter how good I am, I can’t sell another book? What if I can’t sell another book I want to write? What if I can only sell books that are the OH NOES exact same story, over and over, because that’s all people trust me to do or want to read from me?
Am I doing the right thing, making the right choices, taking the right path?
It’s harrowing. Harrowing, I tells ya! When there are days I want to sit in the dark for hours and watch episode after episode of Supernatural while I eat chocolate and drink soda…when there are days I can’t wait to get to the computer to finish my chapter…when there are days I feel like a failure and days I feel like I’m the queen of all I survey…
Actually, that’s usually all in one day. Minute after minute, hour by hour. And I suppose I wouldn’t change a second of this life, in which I am so blessed with good friends, a wonderful family and people who really do love me. No matter how deep the dips, the highs are atmospheric (is that even a word? It should be.)
I am thankful for the life I have and the people in it who have contributed to it. And if nothing else, I’ve achieved more than some writers ever will. I have to hold on to that. I’m big on being grateful and appreciative of what you have – we all know people who are never satisfied with the blessings they’ve been given. You know, the kind who find fault with everything, who constantly complain and can never simply be happy with what they have. They spend so much time bitching and moaning about what they WANT they never stop to be happy for what they HAVE.
I don’t want to ever be one of those people.
Being satisfied with what I have doesn’t mean I won’t continue to strive for more, though. It just means that whenever I start to get down, I force myself to think about all the blessings I’ve been given, and how important are the gifts I’ve been granted.
Some days that’s way easier than others, lemme tell ya.
M
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