Edit-Ing

There are several metric crap-tons of editing advice online. I've spent a LOT of time reading it, but every time I make another pass over one of my manuscripts, I seem to forget everything I've ever known about English and the rules of grammar. *please note that this post is strictly about sentence construction and grammar, and not editing for plot or character or voice or anything else* Luckily for me, I usually reach a point (today it happened on page 243) when the lights come back on and I can see all the WTF-ery for what it is. At that moment, I have two choices.

I could always go right back to the beginning with my newly-remembered knowledge and fix all the offending passages, or keep slogging along until I reach the end. I could save the fixes for the next pass. I need to make another pass anyway, even if only to write the synopsis. *that sentence makes perfect sense if you know how I write synopsises. Synopsize? Synoptopodes? Whatever.*

Today I chose to keep going. It's only Editing Round One. I like to look at it as Drafting Round Two. One common bit of drafting advice I've seen is to just keep writing. No matter what problems you think you've run in to, keep churning out words. Everything can be fixed later, as long as all the words are there on paper (or on the computer) to fix.

If I'm in Drafting Round Two, I'm still swinging. I'll keep punching my way to the end, and live to fight again tomorrow.

I'm keeping a list of issues I need to check when I start Round Three. Here's a sampler of problems I need to evaluate. These might have you nodding along, or might inspire pointing and laughing. Everyone has their own writing demons that plague them. These are some of mine. Yours are probably completely different.

Some people are befuddled by commas. Others have a sentence structure they love, and cling to it like little word monkeys. We all have pet words we use over and over again, because we can't help ourselves. This last one is a giant thumbtack in my patootie.

I use some words over and over again, but they're completely unnecessary, and often irritating. Just (200 times in 305 pages). That (already hacked out a few hundred of them). Simply (surprisingly curtailed in this draft at only 30 uses).

I use the "find" feature in Word and search for words I know I use too often. You can even search for word fragments, such as "ing." I nearly fell down dead when I ran that search this morning, before I remembered SOME WORDS HAVE "ING" IN THEM BUT AREN'T BAD VERBS.

Almost every post on general editing warns against using too many -ing verbs. They can turn your writing passive faster than a chipmunk stuffing nuts into its little cheeks. See? Just like that. (there's the evil JUST again, too!). Sometimes, the verb ending in ING is the absolutely correct choice to make. Other times, the "ing" the search tool finds isn't a passive verb at all. Like "morning," "evening," "sing," "sting," "fling," "spring," etc.

When I saw there were nearly 3,000 instances of "ing" in this MS, I wanted to cry. I pride myself on my passive-voice avoidance radar. My CP's know laser beams shoot out of my eyes when I find it. *pew pew pew*

I started subtracting all the *okay* uses of "ing" from the total, and started to feel better immediately. It turns out I used "morning" 22 times. After that, I couldn't stop myself. I do love a good statistic. Without much effort, I found more than 2000 perfectly acceptable uses of "ing." 500 of them were variants of "thing," such as "something," "anything," "nothing," etc. I'm sure there are other words I could deduct from the grand total, but I'd proved my point and picking out the rest of the individual offenders seemed silly.

My morning panic was essentially for naught. It was a good splash of cold water to the face, and I am keeping a closer eye on repeated words now, but I still guarantee my CP's will have their slapping-fish at the ready to hit me in the face with all the WTF-ery I overlooked.

I'll make at least one more pass before I subject anyone else to this story. I know I said this was the first round of edits, but in reality it's probably the third or fourth. Remember that drafting gem from the top of this post? The one that said to JUST KEEP WRITING, don't stop to edit until the draft is done? Yeah. I don't pay much attention to that little rule, either. It's excellent advice, but at the end of the day, nothing I wrote would be sensible or coherent if I didn't go back and reread what I wrote from day to day.

That being said, you probably shouldn't heed any writing advice from me, either. :)

Admitting to being a writer.

I considered titling this "Confessing to being a writer," but I think "admitting" is better. I'm not ashamed of writing, but telling other people how I spend my days invites a series of inquiries that I find horribly frustrating. After telling a few folks last night that I'm a writer, I found myself delivering the inevitable lecture about the realities of writing and publishing. I bet all the writers reading this are nodding their heads right now.

If you're not a writer, or are new to writing, here are a few informational pointers. This is intended in the spirit of loving human compassion, so I apologize in advance if parts (or vast swaths) seem to be coming from a place of snarkiness. I will keep reminding myself that not only is this information not generally known to the non-publishing public, most of this info was completely unknown to me until I'd written my first novel and began researching how to get published, just under two years ago.

The first question I get when I tell people I'm a writer (because I am, I write things, like whole book length things, 100k word novels) is invariably some variation on this sentiment: OH! WHAT HAVE YOU WRITTEN? HAVE I READ IT? WHERE CAN I BUY IT RIGHT NOW? HOW MANY BOOKS HAVE YOU SOLD?

My response at this point is usually to turn red, stutter, and admit I've never sold a single book. This is the hardest admission for a writer, because the other person, who moments ago was all eager like a puppy with a new toy, will slump back and instantly lose about 90% of their interest in you. I mean, why wouldn't they lose interest? A second ago, at least in their minds, you were a Big Time Author, and now you're just a kook who writes stuff. A loser. At least, that's how it feels sometimes. And then I remind myself that they're only responding with disappointment because they don't know what it actually takes to write, edit, find an agent, find a publisher, edit some more, and then publish a successful novel.

After my admission, a common follow-up question is: OH, THEN HAVE YOU EVEN WRITTEN A WHOLE BOOK YET?! Because obviously, if I'd gone ahead and FINISHED a book, it would've been published by now. Riiiiight.

Again, my reply makes me feel even smaller. I have to tell them that I've written five complete novels, and I'm working on a sixth. For me, this is the most terrifying, horrifying thing to admit to anyone outside the writing and publishing world. I can see the pity filling their eyes. I just know they're thinking, "Oh, your poor, sad little creature. FIVE WHOLE NOVELS SO SPECTACULARLY BAD YOU'VE FAILED TO SELL A SINGLE COPY OF A BOOK EVER." I then imagine them patting my head like a three-year-old who just admitted in public, repeatedly, in a very loud voice, usually in mixed company, that they made poo poo in the toilet. Yeah. That's kind of how it feels.

And then I feel I have to justify myself. More on this in a moment. But first, I usually give a little lecture about the Realities of Publishing. You may find these tidbits comforting next time you find yourself in this situation, on either side of this little drama (as the writer or as the non-writer).

• Just because you've written a WONDERFUL, GLORIOUS NOVEL doesn't mean it gets published and hits the NYT bestseller list by the following Monday. Even the most famous writers have to wait for their publication window to roll around. It can take years. Literally.
• You don't just write that MASTERPIECE OF LITACHER and then pick an agent out of the phone book to represent you. You don't hire an agent like you'd hire an employee. It's a weird hybrid sort of position, where you kind of hire each other. You apply to agents like someone seeking a job, send a resume (in publishing this is known as a query letter) that details your book and a bit about you. Then the agent reads your stuff, and decides whether or not they want you as a client. After a little back and forth, it's still up to you whether or not you want to hire the agent.
• There are 46 bazillion writers in the universe. (*note: this might be a slight exaggeration, but probably not) A fair portion of them are seeking representation through an agent. There are only a few thousand literary agents, and substantially fewer who even represent the genre any given writer...writes. There is a lot of competition. It's also not a quick process. It can take months between finishing the novel, querying, and hearing back from agents who are interested. This is also the worst time to field questions from people about how your writing is going. We feel adrift at sea already, and need to be peeled off the ceiling every time the phone rings or the email alert chimes. This is when those withering looks of pity and assumptions of our failures sting the most.
• There are sometimes questions about why I haven't gone ahead and self-published by now. I mean, really. It's so easy nowadays, right? Just stick it up on Amazon or the like, and BOOM. Instant bestseller, right? Not exactly. There are thousands of self-published books being released into the universe every single day. Unless I have the time, money, and resources to spend marketing and promoting my book (which would be as much work as a full-time job, by the way), then it would likely sell a few copies to my friends and then fizzle out of existence. I want to make writing a life-long career. The goal isn't to produce a single novel that dies in obscurity just to see my name in print. I'm in no hurry. While self-pub might be the perfect option for someone else, I would be a total failure at it. I just don't have the business-marketing-promotional skills.
• The people who ask these questions are not deliberately trying to be hurtful. They just don't know what goes into writing and publishing a successful novel. Be kind, and educate them a bit. They might turn out to be your most ardent supporters down the line!

Okay, then. Back to my justification. Five novels and not one sold? Wow, you must be a terrible writer.

No, not really, but the first two were my "practice novels," written before I learned anything about the realities of the book market. They taught me how to be a better writer. I never sought publication for them. Maybe someday, after they've been completely rewritten, but for now they live under my bed, where the world is safe from them.

Okay, but what about the other three? They're not good enough to sell, either?

Well, considering they are a SERIES, I can't sell the second two until after the first one is published. I haven't been querying the first one for the last several months. I've had some positive responses, but in the end, I was told it wasn't quite ready yet.

Then I had a revelation. One agent told me they wanted to know more about the characters. There were hints in the story about a really interesting history, a looooooong backstory. She wanted to read THAT novel, about that history. *insert flashing light bulb here* So I started writing it. I'm now about half way through that draft, but it will need editing and critiquing from my writing friends before I send it out. Maybe six weeks of work, if I get this draft done soon!

*cue renewal of interest in my writing* OH! So you're not a TOTAL failure, yet. Right? There's still hope for you?

Nope. I will only ever be a failure if I quit trying. I REPEAT: I WILL ONLY EVER BE A FAILURE IF I QUIT TRYING.

So there. Have any of you had this conversation before? How did you deal with it? Because I was double-teamed on it last night. One of the participants in the conversation had known about my writing since last summer. She assumed I'd been long-published by now, and was mildly disappointed that I wasn't. The other person learned of my writing for the first time, so he was a little less disappointed in my lack of publishing credits, but I still felt the sting. Consider this post my way of dealing with their double-whammy. :)

Mehpocalypse, and other fun

So we all survived the Mayan Apocalypse. Well, I assume if you're reading this you survived, too. The worst thing that happened all day, at least near my house, was a bit of light snow. Meh.




I finished wrapping Christmas presents, so at least the world won't come to an end for a lack of appropriate gift giving next week. At least not on my part. I hope y'all upheld your gift-giving duties.

I also realized that for the first time, I might be tempted to tweet about Christmas morning. There might even be pictures. Then I realized how crappy the rest of my living room looked, and figured I should tidy up a bit. It was a good thing I did. I found some interesting (read: appallingly embarrassing) things while going through the junk that's built up on the coffee table. Here's a partial list:

• A bag of Dr. Pepper Jelly Bellies that Lulu bought in Savannah. In July. Jelly Bellies don't go bad, do they?
• A gift certificate to Baskin Robbins she got for making the honor roll at school. Time to go get ice cream!
• An Irish penny
• The original notes that sparked the idea for my Untweetworthy posts (which in turn inspired this list).
• A Jack Skellington foam ball thing for the top of the car antenna. I bought it at Disney in 2010. Maybe I should actually put it on the car, huh?
• The last two car insurance cards I got for my truck. That's a year's worth of proof-of-insurance. Maybe I should put those in the truck. That would probably be a good idea.
• The unopened copy of Rachel Ray Everyday magazine from October 2011. That's not a typo. 2011.

So that was most of my day. Now that we're past the Solstice and the days are getting longer again, I feel excited about finishing my WIP. I'm finally past the painful sticky-spot that I'd been unable to get through for so long. We're tumbling ever closer to 2013, and I'm tumbling ever closer to a full first draft. Things are looking up.

Or, they will be. I have more exciting critiquing work to do before I go back to writing. So here's the last of my #ApocalypseConfessions. There's nothing more exciting then doing an emergency critique. Think about that. An emergency-level read-through. It always precedes exciting things, you know? So off I go. I hope y'all have something just as exciting to tackle this weekend. You know. Now that we're sure there will be a weekend at all.

Stupid Mehpocalypse.

I Murdered Gary (my kindle) and Other Tales of Horror

Our camping weekend at Hersheypark was a lot of fun. There was this:

Luckily he didn't show up at our camp site to make s'mores.

Since it's Hersheypark in the Dark, here's the Wildcat all lit up. Roller coasters in the dark! It was awesome!

There was chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. And roller coasters. All of this was very, very good. Camping in the near-freezing cold wasn't bad, either. Once the thunderstorms died down. Luckily we were at Chocolate World during the worst of the weather. And I don't think I'd care if it were raining tarantulas if I were indoors at a place called Chocolate World. Am I right?

So, back to camp. Where everything started going sideways. First, there's Gary. Poor, dearly departed Gary! I'm crying in my soup! Here's his memorial photograph:

I laid down in the dark the other night, and had Gary in my hand. Before my head even hit the pillow, I heard a snapping noise, which was apparently my thumb crushing his poor little screen. I could just die, and you can bury me alongside dearest Gary. RIP, Gary. You will be missed.

It's hard to believe things get worse than that, but they do.

They have EXTREMELY SPECIFIC speed limits in Hershey.

We got up early today, packed up, and my BRAND NEW sleeping pad got doused with soda. It's sticky and stained now. I haven't even used it yet. Not to mention the inside of the tent that was also soda-soaked.

The worst thing was that after everything else, my car did not start this morning. Laden with gear and girl scouts, on a SUNDAY, getting someone to come help with my truck was nearly impossible. Thank goodness for OnStar, because they worked their bottoms off trying to get someone to help. And thank goodness we were at a campground. Have you ever noticed how many helpful, kind people there are at campgrounds?

Within five minutes of raising the hood on the truck, I had half a dozen other campers gathered around to help. Eventually one of the campground employees rolled up in a golf cart, and decided he could get us up and running. He came back with jumper cables and his own truck. Within ten minutes, we were on the road. It was spectacular. So a million thanks to everyone who offered to help, everyone who works at Hershey Highmeadow, and specifically the nice man with the jumper cables. It turns out one of the battery wires had come loose. What a relief! So while I have to replace Gary, I don't also have to replace my starter or alternator or battery. :D Whoop whoop!

So that's the sad tale of my weekend. I'm going to eat away my stress by consuming the rest of the chocolate we bought.

Hope y'all had a less stressful and yet still otherwise awesome weekend! Because despite all the depressing bits, the overwhelming majority of the weekend was spectacularly fun. I am declaring this coming week the Week of Writing. Since Gary's dead, it's not like I can distract myself with reading.

Writer Kryptonite

I'm definitely a Marvel girl, but I like the Superman imagery for this post's title. The events I'm about to relate nearly reduced me to a quivering puddle of goo. I swear, I'm not cheating on you my dear X-men and Avengers. No need to come after me with your combined crazy weapons. I swear you're the main focus of this post. *nervous laughter and twitching*

Okay, I don't really take that above paragraph seriously, but I had a strange episode yesterday. It was strange enough, and entertaining enough, for me to put it in writing. You'll see the Marvel connection momentito.

It all started off with a common enough experience: the phone rang. That's not strange all by itself, but I glanced at the caller ID before I answered. It only said "NEW YORK." And my knees turned to jelly.

*Sigh* More backstory: I'm querying right now. I have several manuscripts out to agents. Most of those agents are located in New York. I'm already a little twitchy when the phone rings or the email notice chimes, but seeing the caller is from New York, and it's not my mom or a friend or something, is just about enough to start my eyeballs doing somersaults.

So I shushed the kid, who was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, and braced myself for anything. I answered the phone. The next 30 seconds went something like this:

ME: Hello?

PHONE: mrrflamlmmmm

ME: Um. Hello?

PHONE: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE* clickity-clickity-click THUNK
     *This was an ear-bleed of a high pitched noise

ME: (after recovering from the ear-bleed) Hello? HELLO?!

Then I hung up. My first thought was, "Oh, great, I just lost any chance I will EVER have of publishing/finding an agent because I just yelled at someone on the phone. They probably think I'm the nutter and there was nothing wrong with the call on their end."

Then I realized I could check and see who actually called. Google to the rescue.

I entered the number from the caller ID, and it looked at little strange. I learned something else fun about the internet, too. The number who called me was registered to Trask Industries, and even Google Maps is in on the joke.

For those not familiar with the Marvel Universe, Trask Industries is explained HERE.

So maybe it wasn't a literary agent calling to beg me to be their client, but after the simultaneous heartbreak and confusion faded, at least I was left with the notion that somewhere out there, maybe Wolverine or Iron Man will have to come to my rescue some day. If Trask is a real thing, then maybe they are too. We can hope.

With that bit of nonsense, it's time to go back to my own imaginary version of New York City, setting of the novel I'm working on at the moment.

Unicorn Pillow I made when I was 10. I sit on it while I write now. FTW.

 I can't resist. Apologies.ERMAHGERD! ERNERCERN PERLO!

NEWSLY NOTES: And for a few fun updates on things I'm participating in within the Series of Tubes:

I am working up several new contest entries this month, some of which are already in the preliminary phases. There is the Hook, Line, and Sinker contest being run through THREE fabulous blogs. Already my preliminary pitch is up over at Kat Ellis's blog for critique.

Then there's Trick or Treat with an Agent! This one is particularly fun because of the two questions entrants are asked to answer. Even if you're not entering the contest, if you are a writer you should give those questions a gander! Fun stuff!

And I can't forget the Pitch Live! Video pitch contest. This one just about killed me. I spent five hours making a video pitch, and I still hate it. *grumbles* I'm about to throw in the towel and just do a costumed chorus line routine, and possibly sing my pitch. At least then the agents who view it will have something memorable and likely a good laugh (or possibly an aneurism. Maybe I should rethink that...) I'm working up the nerve to post the video on this blog.

Also upcoming: The Authoress Baker's Dozen, with FIFTEEN agents participating! My logline is also there for preliminary critique, at #15. Kinda auspicious, right? Fifteen agents, I'm number fifteen...okay, I'll take what I can get. This one is a HUGE, MUST-NOT-MISS EVENT for the unagented among us.

There are probably others, which I'll post as I remember them. In the mean time, here's my sad Progress-o-Meter update:

Words: 55,678
Pages: 173
Edit Page: 139

The Dangers of Re-re-re-re-re-reading

No, the title is not a typo. I don't think I included enough Re's, though. I'm reading Running Down the Dragon for the eleventy-seventh time, and I'm STILL finding things that I want to change. How can this be?

I've rewritten, edited, had critiques, edited some more, revised, tinkered, and edited again. How can there be anything left to change at this point? I'm not sure if ANY of the words are still in the same place they were when I first wrote them down.

Luckily for me, some of the changes are simple typos. I can't believe there are STILL typos in this thing, but there they are!

Some of the changes are shuffling a word or a sentence around. I just restructured the opening paragraph yesterday. I didn't really change much, but I did make the opening stronger. Silly little things like this are the bulk of the changes.

Finally, there are the subtle FEELINGS I want to add. I'll be reading along, and think, "That character should have done something or said something to show their feelings." And at this point I started to feel like an obsessive nutter.

How many edits should it take before I stop trying to find ways to add subtle nuance to the plot?

I stopped reading last night and really thought about that question. I could spend the rest of my life making this one single novel absolutely perfect. I could spend years putting every change I could imagine into the plot, into the characters, into the dialogue. But then what would I have? I'd have a perfect novel that nobody would ever read. Because I never let it go.

You know what? I think I'm okay with letting this one go now.

I'm sure that if it ever sells, the agent/editor/publisher will have something to say about it. I will diligently apply any edits they suggest. Other than that, I declare, by the power vested in me by having written the damned thing, THIS NOVEL IS COMPLETE! CARL GIVES HIS STAMP OF APPROVAL.*

This is Carl. He lives on my bed. He approves, so it's all good.

Now to finish reading it so the edits can begin on the second volume of Thalia's story.

*Note: From now on, when something is settled and final, Carl will offer his stamp of approval. I dare you to prove Carl wrong, since he's a Psychotic Beaver. There's no changing his mind.

Parental Nerves Run Amok, or Sunday Afternoon

The house is very quiet tonight. And dark. The little person who normally runs around leaving lights and TVs on in every room is away this week. I loaded her on an airplane all by herself yesterday afternoon and sent her off to my sister's house for a week. It was a tiny airplane. She loved it.

Tiny plane.

We almost didn't make it to the airport. I'd spent the last week thinking her flight was at 2:35. Yesterday morning around 9 am, I printed out her boarding pass. I'm glad I decided to do it when I did, instead of waiting for the last possible minute to take care of it. Her flight was at 12:22.

I spent the next 15 minutes panicking. Luckily I made her pack the night before, and she only had to throw a few last minute items into her backpack. We both got dressed (I think the TSA would have frowned on us arriving in our pajamas), and bolted for the airport.

The last half a dozen or so times I've flown, I've used National Airport. This was the first time I've had to use Dulles since they installed the underground trains between terminals. First, I want to say how much I miss the old jetway busses that raised and lowered to the height of the plane. They were repurposed as shuttles between the main terminal and the newer terminals, but now they've been almost entirely replaced by the new train. Which is probably the least efficient airport transport system I've ever seen. Ever.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the train itself, but the security lines that bottlenecked us twice before we could join the labyrinth of escalators and hallways beyond the screening point leaves a lot to be desired. There are about a dozen different lines you're randomly assigned to, and then the lines are randomly shut down  from time to time.

Once you finally make it through the boarding pass/ID confirmation point, you're shuffled into one of half a dozen other randomly moving lines to go through screening. Luckily, the kid didn't have to go through the backscatter machine, so neither did I. Those things creep me out.

There were so many escalators beyond this point that they could speed them all up and call it an amusement park. I haven't been up and down that much since I rode the Tower of Terror at Disney last summer. I considered going back and taking a picture of each one, but I try not to act suspicious at airports.

I tried to take this picture in the least suspicious manner possible.

Just so you know I have nothing against the trains, I rode in the front car on my return journey to the main terminal. Nice view.

After the kid was safely airborne, I had to get to work at the Keys game. It was so difficult to work when the kid was sending me messages on my phone, and I'm not technically allowed to have my phone while I'm working. So sue me. I cheated yesterday.

She's having a great time at Girls Rock Camp this week. Her band formed today. They assign girls to bands based on their musical tastes and preferences, so hopefully she'll have a great experience. In case I haven't mentioned it before, she's the drummer.

They did team building activities today, including writing an advertizing jingle for Orange Aliens. She promised to write the lyrics down for me, and assured me it's hilarious. I'll keep you updated as they write their actual song this week. They get to perform in a real concert on Saturday. Fingers crossed for her.

Now that all that's out of the way, I used the unusual quietude around her today to finish the edits from the Magnificent Crit Partner of Magnificence. I can't think of anything else I want to change. Now I'm trying to convince myself that Running Down the Dragon is ready to meet the world. I'd hate to send it out in public only to find out its skirt was tucked into the back of its pantyhose or something.

I think I'll wait until the thought of showing it to agents and editors no longer causes respiratory failure. Yeah. That might happen. Or maybe I'll just wait one more day.

It's Thursday, so why is it acting like a crankypants Monday?

Today is Thursday, but it's behaving like a tantrum-filled Monday. Not fun. I haven't been bombarded by nitpicky lunacy like this in a while. I hate to get on the blog here and rant, but I need to blow off some steam before I get back to editing or, heaven forbid, take my rage out on the WIP. Nobody wants to see that.

So, everything started out on a stressful note. I heard my email notice chime on my phone last night while I was falling asleep. I figured I'd check it out in the morning, since I'd been having a back and forth with a crit partner. I thought it might be more edit notes. HA! No. It was nothing I want to go into here, but it wasn't good news. That's the first thing I saw this morning, and unfortunately the day didn't get much better.

I knew I had to pay bills today (I forgot the phone bill was due today, and while I was there I just balanced the checkbook and paid everything else). That never makes me cheerful, but I thought it would improve my mood to know I didn't have to think about it for another few weeks. So I guess that did work out in my favor. I was feeling better. Temporarily.

I had to go to a training session for the camp I'm working at in a few weeks. I forgot to bring the paperwork I needed to hand in about my kayak instructor certification. I'm glaring at it right now, so I have to make another trip out in the heat to deliver it.

While I was at the training, my cell phone refused to connect to the network. It's been doing this a lot lately. Stupid old phone. It took a 20 minute phone call to Sprint to make it work again. It apparently keeps dumping all my password information. Grrr. At least it works again, but I was like five hours behind on everything because I still didn't have time to catch up.

I paged through the mail while we were fixing my phone, and the community association wants me to take care of a fallen tree in my yard. Apparently it's ugly. Oh, and so are the weeds. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to spend two days hacking through the jungle that my garden turns into in the span of two weeks every summer. So now I have two weeks to take care of it. In record-breaking heat. By myself. Ugh. Lulu volunteered to help, at least. We'll see how that goes.

We also had to go grocery shopping. At least that was fun. I think I overcompensated for my bad mood by buying ALL THE SWEETS. We have moon pies, doughnuts, and two kinds of cookies now. At least I can't blame my problems on a lack of delicious, fattening sweets.

Come to think of it, that makes today...not all that bad, in retrospect. Because it's kind of impossible to be upset when you have Moon Pies! :)

Okee dokey. I'm going to put on my hat, grab some water, and go hack through the jungle. Maybe if I pretend I'm Stanley on a mission to find Livingston in the Deepest Corners of Darkest Africa, I'll make it through. It feels hot enough outside, and it's always easier to take care of horrible tasks if you can make up a good story to play with while you're torturing yourself.

Or maybe I'll wait until after dinner. Maybe the tension headache I gave myself from grinding my teeth together will be gone by then, too.

So there you have it. I worked myself up into a lather for nothing. Life's not so bad. At least the air conditioner is holding out...knock on wood.

I hope everyone else is having a happy Thursday, too.

Strange Food Issues and Other Obsessions

My family is hard to cook for. Strangely, it's not the 11-year-old that has the food issues. It's the Helper Monkey with the sensitive tummy. Poor Sad Monkey!

I can't cook with peppers, and onions are only used sparingly. Chicken is boring. He's sick of pizza and pasta. That leaves me with few options on busy nights. I rely on stir-fry with rice or noodles a lot of nights because I'm too busy to cook a more complicated meal. Unfortunately, he hates this. Unfortunately, Lulu loves it. Her favorite snack is sliced bell peppers. I guess I should be glad she loves the vegetables, but I have to control myself because Helper Monkey would live on meat and carbs if I let him.

Dinner last night was a breaking point. I made a stir fry with chicken and veggies (leaving out the peppers and adding a bit of onion to balance out the flavor). Lulu loved it, I ate the whole thing, and Helper Monkey picked at it with disappointed chagrin. Again, Poor Sad Monkey!

I asked what I can make that doesn't take hours, but would be satisfying and tasty. I was told "Pot Roast." So today I head out to the grocery store for slabs of meat and bags of potatoes. I was also told to buy more fresh fish. My complaint about that: you have to use it THAT DAY. I am NOT going to the grocery store every day for fish, even though I'm on board the more fresh fish bandwagon.

So that's the current dilemma. At least I had a cure ready for last night's dinner faux pas. I took Lulu and the Helper Monkey to Dairy Queen. DQ fixes everything.

Birthday Cake Blizzards!

In other news, I finally finished the scarf made from the gifted yarn. I complained that I haven't been writing, and it was starting to get to me in a bad way. Once again, the Helper Monkey pointed out what should have been obvious. He watched me accept the gift of yarn, and only told me last night that he knew it would cause this problem. He knew I'd let everything else in the world fall by the wayside until I finished the yarn project. He's promised to warn me next time someone tries to give me something nice, so I can politely decline the gift in favor of keeping my sanity.

I have a little problem that once I start something, I MUST SEE THE ENTIRE PROJECT THROUGH!!! I have a hard time letting things go, and I'm limited in how much I can multitask. When something like a beautiful skein of yarn comes my way, I'm incapable of focusing on anything else until the project is done. Sort of like reading a new book. I can't write until I finish reading. It's like throwing a wrench into an engine.  I have to spend a whole day taking the engine apart and carefully putting it back together instead of just pulling the wrench out and starting it up again. If I start something, by goshen, I'm going to finish it.

The Scarf of Glorious Obsession. At least it's purty.

So with that inspiring philosophy, I've got errands to run this afternoon before I get back to writing tonight. And tomorrow, I get to go donate double red cells to the Red Cross. To anyone who needs A-negative blood this weekend, you're welcome.

One last thing before I go: I had a weird moment this morning when one of my sister's books, Sex Made Easy, was featured on the local news this morning! Yay!

Tuesday. Today stinks so bad I could cry.

Today started out great. I was all psyched up to write, since I wouldn't be able to work on the deck. First thing I had to do was balance the checkbook. I handled that like a pro, and moved on to the internets. I got all my email and things sorted and squared away, and then was ready to sit down and write. Yay!

Then the guy painting my house showed up and said we'd need more paint. Could I run out to Lowe's again and buy a few more gallons? Gah! So I did. That's three trips to Lowe's in six days. I'm really getting sick of that place. Turns out, I need to go back AGAIN and buy one more gallon. I could have cried.

Then we have a serious bit of drama going on with a friend of mine who has escalated a minor passing disagreement into a federal case. It has eaten a large part of my day, and filled me with distress. That's all I'll say about it here, but let it be known that it really eats at me that anyone who has a problem with me doesn't just say so to my face, but runs around and causes problems for all kinds of other people because of it. I'm not stupid, and we are not children. If you have a problem with me, just tell me, darn it! Don't run off and tattle to others, please.

Then, I had to run off to chorus practice, where a friend and I rehashed all that drama yet again. When we were done, I checked my email real quick, and realized I'd heard back from the agent who has my full manuscript. She rejected it, but with some very insightful advice, which I'm taking into consideration, and planning a whole rewrite of the first novel. Which means I'll have to trash most of the second novel, as well. The revisions she suggested, which mostly consists of bringing the two main characters together romantically, happens in book two, and that's about half the story line of the second novel. What they go through makes them realize they belong together. If I have to move all that to book one, I'll have to completely rewrite both books. And the third book I'm working on right now should basically just sit and go unwritten for now, if the first two books are going to undergo that much change. Pointless to keep writing it until the first two novels are rewritten. Right?

Not even wearing my pink shoes could keep me from wallowing in the doldrums today.

Damn Cheerful Shoes

No, not even these puppies could cheer me up after all that. I can't wait for Tim to wake up, so I can ask him what he thinks about all of this. I don't know whether to be happy to get so much great revision advice, or to cry because of just how much work will go to waste if I take it.

Then again, it's good advice. If I don't take it, I might never get published at all. And then EVERY SINGLE BIT of work will have been wasted, technically. Who the heck knows? I certainly don't.

I've decided to wait until tomorrow to make any decisions on what to do now. I've also decided not to cry, which is an improvement. Glad I had this chance to share.