Say what?!?

Sometimes a month is not long enough. Sometimes a month is WAY too long. Sometimes you just gotta cut your losses and run like hell. Sometimes life hands you a story that can't be rushed.

This was one of those times....

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Parrotheads...

Not that there's anything wrong with that, but perhaps taking my oldest daughter to her first Jimmy Buffett concert at the age of 3 wasn't one of my better ideas. Or maybe it was. She has a lot of fun. But she is also a bit obsessive about the lifestyle. Or maybe I just wish I could be similarly obsessive. Nah. What I wish I could be obsessive about is WRITING -- while relaxing on a beach somewhere with a cooler of boat drinks, of course .

She is turning 30 this week and is celebrating by sailing between uninhabited islands in the Grenadines with her similarly obsessed friends and an old salt named Cap'n Allen. I am celebrating by once again committing myself to the insanity that is the November tradition of writing a novel in a month. BWAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA........

What am I writing about? Haven't a clue. For that matter, I haven't a title, outline, or opening sentence either. The only thing I know for sure is that I plan on taking up where this blog left off 10 months ago - I want to write funny. If the rest of the world doesn't see it that way, so be it. I need a few good laughs.

Hoist the sails and tend to the rudder -- I feel a change in the wind...

Funny Ha-Ha

Last night I went to a play, The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told, and laughed for almost three hours straight. Or maybe "straight" is not exactly the word to use in this particular context -- this, after all, was the story of the world through the eyes of Adam and Steve, and Jane and Mabel! But this fundraiser for the Asheville Area HIV/AIDS coalition was amazingly funny, intelligent, thought-provoking, and entertaining, and it just affirmed what I have been feeling for weeks now:

I want to write funny.

Which is a good thing, since apparently I can't keep the funny out of my writing even if I try. I received several comments from contest judges about the strength of my "voice" throughout my manuscript and how the sudden forays into humor didn't seem quite in character with my wounded heroine and hero. Well, that's just not true -- in the strange world that is my mind, chaos and adversity are handled with humor either during, or after, even the darkest moments of existence.

Everything has a humorous side, albeit at times a very dark humor, and everything is also its own story. That's how I live, and that's how I write.

So, now what?

This throws my plan right out the window (no problem, god, glad I could give you a giggle). I guess it would help if I knew where the Golden Pen thing stands (they were supposed to announce final standings yesterday) and whether I am going to get a request for a full manuscript or not. If not, I am really leaning toward diving right into the chick-lit/women's fiction market. Hey, over the past week, I have come up with several book ideas -- and one that is just downright hilarious. Just talking it out and writing it down in an e-mail had ME laughing out loud and it was like watching the whole idea evolve like a movie in my head.

And that's the way I want writing to be -- fun, exciting, effortless (well, in the mind anyway). If I wanted writing to be morose and plodding, then life would have to be also, and I am SO over that. Not to mention that I have lived way too long by my "laugh your way through/out of it" philosophy to go back now.

So I'm going to write funny. Funny ha-ha. And f**k 'em if they can't take a joke.

First there is a novel, then there is no novel, then there is

I made it, sorta.

If anyone does not believe in the effects of Mercury Retrograde, I would like to climb up on a soapbox and proselytize. Normally this little period of backward motion is a GOOD time for me -- lets me catch up on unfinished business, stop and take a look at what is not working for me anymore. Also provides me with belly laughs at those who experience its well-publicized effects of things getting lost, destroyed, breaking down, etc. Heh heh heh.

Not any more.

If the "pasting old over new" debacle weren't enough, then the "laptop crashing the final morning" pushed me right over the cliff into believerdom. When that little blue error screen showed up not once, not twice, but three times, I quickly e-mailed the file to myself between blue screens, then went to retrieve it on Janet's computer. Fortunately, most of it made it - only lost a couple of pages there at the end. Even more fortunate, something (bless you, Something) had convinced me to print out the final copies of the synopsis and first three chapters for the Golden Heart entry first thing that morning, so I had those in hard copy -- a good thing since I was unable to retrieve those files after the crash.

Anyway, with an hour wasted dealing with techno angst, I dove in and tried to finish and patch as best I could. It is a sloppy effort at best and I am totally relying on the wisdom of my Cherry NoMo buds that the judges really only see those first 3 with synopsis. Since I didn't have the time or ink to print out the entire book, I submitted the complete on a CD. Speaking of Mercury walking backward...

I grabbed two what-I-thought-were-blank CDs and quickly burned the book to one of them. Something (bless you, Something) made me pull up the CD to make sure it burned correctly. It was at this time that I discovered I had burned it onto an unlabeled CD containing dozens of personal photographs -- including those LOVELY shots of me in a bikini taken for the Fit for Life project at work summer before last. YAK...

Okay, by now I am working on 39 hours without sleep, general panic, and a FedEx closing time only 35 minutes away. And what happens? I hit the wall. Pow. Suddenly my brain implodes and I have no recollection of how to burn a CD. Really. All the know-how evaporated. I started to whimper... I started to cuss... I started to kick Janet's computer to Arden... Then my brain came back on.

I burned the CD, threw the 6 paper copies of Synopsis/First 3 Chapters Janet had xeroxed for me earlier that day into the FedEx package, without even checking them to be sure all the pages were there or even in order, and jumped into my car for the ride to FedEx. Hit every red light on the way.

When I get there, with 3 minutes to spare, I have to wait in line behind some woman who has to talk about her son and getting his birthday present to him on time, even though she doesn't want to spend the additional money to do so. ARGHHHHHH. When she finally leaves, I move up to the window and present my package, and ask my questions about shipping and guaranteed delivery times, etc. I can hear myself -- I am talking ninety miles a minute.

The agent is staring at me. I try to talk slower. She is still staring, but at my shirt. I look down. I have had the same clothes on for at least three days; my sweatshirt has a smear of dried whipped cream and an assortment of ground in food crumbs. It is 40 degrees outside and I am wearing Birkenstocks with no socks. I haven't brushed my hair in at least 24 hours. Brushing my teeth went out with the paste-over crisis, and, as I take a deep breath to calm myself, I realize I can't remember my last shower. I reek.

So I mumble that whatever she said was fine and shove my debit card at her. She was probably wondering why a bag lady had a debit card anyway and how anyone who smelled so bad could be mailing a package to the Romance Writers of America. Whatever, Trevor. I haven't eaten in 12 hours or taken my meds. I am fading fast...

Went home, ate, took a bath, fell asleep in the tub, got into bed and slept for 14 hours, went to work, came home, fell in the bed, slept for 10 hours... it's done, it's crappy, but it's a complete book. And once I recuperate -- maybe by Tuesday -- I will take it out, read it, try not to burn it right away, and get to work on making it all better.

So am I done with this blog? Hell no, don't you want to follow the rest of the process to publication or rejection? Stay tuned, keep reading, there's much more to come. And then there are all those other books I plan to write. MWAH-HA-HA-HA!!!!!

Mike Mulligan's Steamshovel and The Little Engine That Could

When I was a kid, watching Captain Kangaroo in my cracked footie pajamas, and eating all the butter and sugar out of my oatmeal first, the two stories mentioned in this post's title were the two I could listen to the Captain read over and over again.

Who knows? Maybe even then I had an inkling that my contract for this lifetime was Sisyphus Redux. Write, lose the draft. Re-write, lose the draft. Well, you get the picture. No? Then how about... Eat healthy, get the flu. Recover from flu, daughter with URI comes to visit. Daughter recovers, I get her bug...

Anyway, I have finished the final re-writes of the first 3 chapters which are the ones actually judged. I am about halfway, maybe a little more, through re-revising the remaining chapters. My page count is now spot on. I have tomorrow off which should be enough time to finish up (at least for the purposes of this contest -- I will polish the entire book over the first half of December as planned).


I have until around noon on Thursday to get this to FedEx and pay a fortune for guaranteed next-day delivery. Hmmmm... is it possible?


I think I can, I think I can...

Major Revisions, and the Ultimate Re-write

Today, in the midst of that final push for the ending that would signify the end of the drafting process and the beginning of final revisions of my WIP, I ran head-first into one of those life moments that you never see coming.

Caught at a point in the book where I needed to refer back to an earlier chapter to verify several points, I decided to break my "don't re-read the whole thing until you finish the draft" rule I put in place several weeks ago. Moving from the very much revised first three chapters into the fourth, I suddenly felt like I was reading someone else's book. Where was Ellen, Brett's grown-up sister? The attorney who filed for custody without his consent? Where was all my back-story about his family and their dislike of Ginny? The perfectly revised courtroom scene?

Gone.

Every last word of it.

I have been moving back and forth between two versions of the manuscript as I made revisions and added new material. Apparently, during one of those cut and paste sessions, I pasted old material over new, losing the revisions completely. And the paper copy I kept for backup and manual revisions? Just switched out for a new edition (or so I thought) and the old paper recycled.

Gone.

So this will not be my year to enter the Golden Heart after all. So it goes. My first reaction was to puke. I felt like I'd been sucker-punched in the gut. But other than that initial reaction, I have been remarkably and detachedly calm about the whole thing. I have already revamped my plan to align with a new deadline of December 15 when the Golden Pen winners are announced and hopefully I will have an editor asking for my complete manuscript. If I don't keep it moving, don't keep setting new goals when disappointment dumps on my parade, I will never see this through to the end I desire.

I wrote it once, I can write it again. I'll just think of it as yet another revision.

And the reason for my uncharacteristic calm in the face of apparent chaos? Ah, that's where the rest of the title comes from -- the Ultimate Re-write, in this case, is death, which tends to trivialize life's more minor revisions.

This morning, in the middle of catching up with my on-line writing buds, we received an e-mailed message from Pamela Cleaver's son that she had died unexpectedly and more details would be coming out in the London Times later today or tomorrow. Talk about a sucker-punch.

I know there are those who don't fully understand the strength of electronic connections made between souls who never meet face-to-face, but Pam was one of us -- a cheerful, giving senior Cherry with a sweet disposition and a wicked wisdom she didn't hesitate to share with the rest of us younguns. Every time I logged onto the NoMo database to enter my word counts, there was Pam's name -- reminding me that she was one of those people always ready to lend a hand In reality, she was a chat moniker and a website to me, but she was also a cyber-friend and dance partner in this little tarentella world of romance writers, and I will miss her very much.

Here's just one reason why...


"Hey, all you youngsters of 50 and 60, I'm here to tell you
that in your seventies life, love and romance don't stop -
at least they haven't stopped yet for me."

Pam - Cherry Gran

My Feet Hurt, My Turkey's Tough, and I Ain't Done Writin'

Actually, the turkey wasn't so bad after all -- a little chewy (whatta ya want for a free bird?), but very juicy and tasty. And, no, it's not the official eat-yourself-sick day, but it's the Friday after and we just ate our second culinary salute to American over-indulgence. With gravy. And the musical theme from The Waltons playing in the background. No, really. Kids, grown kids... what can I say?

My feet do hurt -- too much standing on the world's most uncomfortable floor while cooking too much food. But now I have them propped up and they will get better and we have enough food to last through the weekend while I finish this book (refer to blog title to refresh your memory). In fact, with the amount of work I have to do on the book, it will probably be fanny fatigue that gets me in the end (HAHAHAAA - in the end, get it?)

And I will finish. Because now I'm pissed and anger is my best motivator. Angry at what? I'm glad you asked that question: angry because while ripping up cornbread to make dressing this morning, the entire, correct story arc for this book suddenly came to me -- WAY too late. No, I am not about to start over with a book that only has a 30-day shelf life anyway. But it does make me want to get it done and out of here immediately. Good thing since the deadline is already looming.

However, I am seriously considering not taking a break, but diving right into the December NoMo extension with the rest of the group who didn't pull it off in November. I can start by writing a new synopsis for the next book -- words are words, after all, and the count tallies them anyway. There is something very inspiring about being part of a group of people who are trying to do the same thing you are, and the encouragement and encouraging are most welcome on the more difficult days.

Like now, when I have to get up from this comfy couch where the late afternoon sun is massaging my shoulders, and head back into the kitchen to rip the rest of the turkey from its bones. Yum.

Then I get back to writing.


Followed by pie...

Down to the Wire

Okay. So, if there is any hope of getting all the revisions done in time for Tuesday's mailing, I have to finish the complete draft today! By midnight. So I can get some sleep and be ready to start re-writing and cleaning up the strange inconsistencies on Friday -- Thursday being a day of cooking, eating, and cleaning (also known as emptying the overloaded brain).


I am into the next to last chapter and it is pretty straight forward, but very legal which is slowing me down. The last chapter should be a breeze since it has been written in my head for a year and a half. I am forcing myself to actually write it last, like savoring your dessert after a LOOONNNNGGGG, heavy meal. Burp.

The other night at work, I was eating in the sloproom -- er, breakroom, when I overheard another employee telling someone he had taken off 10 days just to write. He spoke of writing, sleeping, eating at whatever times suited him. Then he said he wished some publisher would love his book, because he wanted to live that way all the time. I know what he means...


Send me kudos, wish me luck, pray to your assorted gods, but do whatever you know how to do to help me over this hurdle. Your little comments mean more than you know.

Broken Toes and Other Woes

Whine, whine, whine.

Yes, I broke my toe. I was down in the basement looking for something. I no longer have any memory of what I was looking for, but it doesn't matter anyway. All the weird, unconnected things I find myself doing these days only have one common denominator -- they keep me from writing.

But, that's my pattern. I am proud of the fact that it is altering somewhat and that I am getting a bit more in the discipline groove these days. In fact, I can see real possibilities for this "set goals and sit butt" routine in my future. However, in my present, I am still slugging my way through a lifetime habit of slow starts, fast finishes. I suppose the end result is the same, but as the years go by, the strain on my body increases and the thrill of crisis adrenalin decreases. I'll keep working on that.


In the meantime, counting today, I have 10 (YIKES!!) days to finish draft, revise entire book, and update synopsis AGAIN to coordinate with all the changes my characters have been making to my story. They stole my story. Heh heh heh -- my apologies for lifting that line from Stephen King and Secret Window; it comes in handy for a multitude of sins.

Ten days. And I still have to work the day-job on 3 of them. Last day to ship manuscript is Tuesday, November 29. My heart is beating faster already. I can do this. I may not survive it, but I can do it. Oh hell, of course, I'll survive it. Why am I so sure?

Because there is a collaboration in my future... as well as a week long sugar high.

Life is good.

Don't Let the Turkeys Get You Down

I have always loved Thanksgiving - waking up to the smell of all that good food cooking, watching the parades on TV (yes, I still do that), lots of people doing lots of eating. Ahhhh...

(Insert theme music from The Waltons)

And this year I am so torn between wanting to cook my ass off for appreciative friends and family and wanting to finish this damn book. But I am not getting any younger, the universe seems to have lined up the writing vibes, and there is an actual deadline looming. If I stay on schedule and get the draft finished by the day before T-day, then the editing and rewrites should be finished in plenty of time for Tuesday's mailing.

Sigh.

Hopefully there will be other turkey days and I will not have lost all my friends to this hermiting. If I have, I know a good book I can curl up with while munching my turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce sandwich.

Heh heh heh

Two days off work and the flu is abating. Woohoo. The NoMo competition has me on somewhat of a roll - keep your fingers and toes crossed and send good writing energy so I can really whip it out before the day job reels me in again on Thursday. My goal is at least 10,000 words in two days.


Good Lord willing and the Oreos go stale (yum!), I'll make it with ease.

Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge

Today I wrote the main sex scene for my book. I have been avoiding it for days, writing around it, leaving a prominent INSERT SEX SCENE HERE message for myself on a half-blank page.

You probably think I was just too embarrassed, right? Not quite sure how to put it all down on paper? WRONG. If I could make a living at it, I would probably write erotica all the time. Like maybe for that new Harlequin/Silhouette line called Spice that will be coming (!) out in trade paperback next year as a monthly single-title release retailing for $12.95.


I am not a proponent of that so-called erotica that is really just insert tab A into slot B pornography. What I'm talking about is that full-blown (!), wrapped in ALL the senses, metaphorically spasmodic sex on paper that makes you have to turn the ceiling fan to high. The kind of literary sex that drops its phrases into your mind years, even decades later. (Thank you Anais Nin - the train scene is with me always.) So that's what I wrote, toned down for Harlequin's regular romances, of course.

And I let two people read the scene. And did they gush over the rhythmic pacing, the tactile lushness, the melodic prose? No. Both of them had issues with my single use of the word "penis." They seemed much more comfortable with some of the ridiculous euphemisms from days gone by.

(To refresh your memory or increase your archaic vocabulary, click here, but be prepared for overkill).

What is up with that? It IS a penis. That's its real name. GET OVER IT. I write gorgeous, erotic prose, filled with emotion, and people trip over penis? (My apologies if that last phrase brought a visual to mind that has you spewing Oreos through your nose.)

So I wrote the sex scene and I am happy with it and now I can get on with the cut and dried detective work of the next few chapters. Yawn. But the writing will probably go much faster and I can definitely turn off the ceiling fan for this one.

Sigh.

One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Chest

Okay. Instead of a blissful orgy of catch-up writing, I got the flu. I am not a happy camper. Do you know how hard it is to even see a computer screen through eye snot? And I have no argument with the proposition that breathing is a necessity when it comes to staying conscious enough for writing.

Then again, the universe did give me two great affirmations at work on Sunday, so do I have any other choice but to keep on keeping on? Gathered together all the judges' comments from the three pre-Golden Heart contests I entered and tried to get a feel for what they had in common. Re-wrote my synopsis (yes, AGAIN) and feel pretty good about it. There were a few plot points that needed tweaking and/or eliminating and now the story arc is much improved -- which theoretically should lead to smoother, faster writing.

Let's go find out...

Where Have I Been? Where Am I Going?

Pulled up the blog to see how long it had been since I wrote anything, thinking it might be a few days -- good grief! What happened?

Well, there were the 2 turned into 4 days of purging the office and cleaning house for company. The days when we had company. The day I took off work and writing to play tourist with company. The days of recuperating from company. Oh yeah, that's where time went...

So anyway, the Novel in a Month process started on November 1, a day on which I wrote nothing (recuperating from company). The next two days were pretty pitiful, although I did get a lot of editing done. However, today was one of those glorious days when the story flowed and I was laughing and crying over my own work. Gotta love those precious moments of synchronicity.

Since the other CherryNoMo members had pretty much talked me out of trying to start a new work in progress while finishing and revising my current WIP, I am just using the NoMo structure to try and build a month of discipline into my writing schedule and play around with what will work best for me for the long haul. So I am participating in a 2-day challenge this weekend to write at least 500 words per day and, if possible, write enough more to catch up with the minimum daily words necessary to finish a 50,000 word epistle in only 30 days.

As we are now 5 days into the process and I should be at the 8,334 word mark, I don't see that happening. But I hope I can chug out enough words to get this WIP finished and ready for final revision for the Golden Heart, which has to be in their hands by December 2.

HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! I see Oreos and Coke on the horizon...

Cheerleaders! I need cheerleaders!

Craving a Coke and Thinking of Pizza

It is gray and dreary outside. And cold. Did I mention cold? I am sitting here in red wool socks, purple striped flannel pajama bottoms, a long gray nightshirt that comes below my knees, a long-sleeved denim shirt over that, and a baseball hat that once sported slogan buttons, but is now reduced to plain worn khaki.

And I am in desperate need of a Coke.

Which is why I am thinking of pizza. I don't really want pizza, but they will also bring you a Coke. Is that ridiculous or what? It's just that I don't want to change my clothes. I feel like a bag lady today and I am truly impressed by my outfit. Remember the old cowboy song? Something like: I see by your outfit that you are a house slut, let me put on everything in my rag bag and be a house slut, too. Well, maybe I've mis-remembered a few of the words...

And I have been writing, though not as much as hoped. A Coke would probably jumpstart me, though. Is two weeks on this damn medicine enough to let me swig carbonated brown sugar water? I hope so, because when I finish this, I am going to get in my car and drive to the Sonic for a Coke -- just as I am. Without one plea. But that thy Coke was bottled for me... Sorry -- had a brief Baptist hymnal flashback.

I said I was desperate.

But for the rest of the day I will dive back into finishing this thing. It is still flowing smoothly, frighteningly easy for this point in the story. I just hope I don't Coke...er, choke.

Mission: Reorganization

No one should die and leave behind some of the junk I have been carrying around with me for decades.

And no, Dr. Phil, I am not talking esoteric garbage here. I am in literal mode at the moment and speaking of the mounds and bags and boxes of junk that move with me from place to place. Not to mention that this junk increases each time I move as I cram all the last dribs and drabs of "what the hell do I do with this" items into yet another box or two that I will probably not touch again until my next move.

Can you believe I once lived from my car? That pretty much everything I owned at that time rolled around on four wheels with me? Unbelievable. Back then, if it didn't fit in my auto de jour, it didn't make the journey. In those days, my little Plymouth Horizon and its tattered cartop carrier contained my living quarters, clothing, food, cooking stove and utensils, books, and occupational wares -- with room left over for me and the occasional passenger.

There is a major freedom in carrying so few possessions. There is major inconvenience also. I am older. I like peeing indoors. I can no longer get up off the ground/floor without assistance. Electricity is my friend.

So, in preparation for finishing the current novel before the NoMo insanity, I have spent these past three days cleaning out my office -- not even my whole house, just the office (God forbid we even contemplate what is in the basement). The amount of trash is unbelievable. WHY do I have an entire box of old receipts from the past three years? And a traffic ticket from 11 years ago? Hundreds of out of focus photos, dozens of them people I do not even recognize anymore?

I need an empty cave in which to hermit myself away and write. So I am sorting and tossing and hauling away the paper remnants of my life. Maybe I'll get around to the rest of the esoteric garbage another day. If so, I'm not doing it alone -- in order to get it done in just two days, you gotta have a television crew. And a good editor.


And just in case you were wondering...

The revisions finally got to California just under the wire. Oh, and the USPS finally notified me that delivery had been made -- a day later.

When Bad Postal Service Happens to Good People

For once in my life, I think I am ahead of the game, making my revisions in a timely manner, mailing my entry by Priority Mail a week ahead of the date it has to be in hand -- life on track, as it were.

WRONG. Again.

I mailed the package with Delivery Confirmation, mostly for my peace of mind so I could see the exact date it was delivered. Starting Monday, the first day it could possibly be delivered according to the P.O., I checked the website regularly. Still showing only that they accepted it at the Asheville PO on Friday, the 14th -- nothing indicating it ever left Asheville.

Since all this following up was eating into my "re-organizing the office so I can slam out the rest of the book" time, I signed up for the USPS e-mail notification service. They did send me an e-mail a while later -- advising me the package was accepted at the Asheville PO on Friday, October 14th. Major bureaucratic DUH.

All day yesterday I waited -- nothing. Finally, late last night I called a friend who works at the PO's distribution center. Her extended "Uhhhhhhh..." before she started answering my question should have been a warning to sit down. Apparently the center is DAYS behind sorting and moving the mail. She checked with her manager who said the Priority Mail was not as far behind and it probably went out on Tuesday and would still make the Thursday delivery. I was told to check the website this morning after 6:00 am -- guess what?

My package was accepted at the Asheville PO on Friday, October 14. ARGGGHHHHHH!

Now I have just e-mailed the two contact people I know of in California to see if 1) they may have actually received the package and the USPS just hasn't caught up with itself yet, or 2) if they will be there tomorrow to accept an overnight FedEx Express delivery (do you KNOW how much that costs?!?). Time differences freak me out and these good people who volunteer to staff these competitions have their own lives and jobs, so who knows when I will hear something.

Had an untrasound scheduled for today which I have cancelled so I can work on this. No big deal. It would only have shown my guts tied in knots anyway. (Insert string of livid obscenities here.) On the bright side, got news yesterday that my 3rd and final entry has made it to the semi-finals and had the highest judges score for my category (one even gave me perfect scores across the board and said it would definitely get published, no problem -- apparently she does not know about the USPS). Finalists will be announced November 1.

See? The sun still shines. Of course, I just realized that "sun" is nowhere to be found in the old "neither rain, nor snow, or gloom of night" adage of the Post Office. Does that mean on sunny days they don't deliver at all?

I need chocolate...

I Swear, It's In the Mail

Woohoo! The revisions are done and everything's on it's way to the final judges.

Was still struggling with the whole thing yesterday when suddenly it all started falling into place and the revisions began sliding in seamlessly. So I am feeling pretty good about the whole thing and starting to believe the whole process has started accelerating.

Oh, and did I mention that Wednesday night I got THE CALL from another contest and I have finalled in that one also. Not bad for my first book and first contest entries, eh? Of course, now I'm getting cocky and figuring maybe I'll end up finalling in all THREE of the ones I entered. Wouldn't that be incredible?

Of course, if that happens, my reaction will probably get me arrested since we have started getting anonymous notes (just kidding) about the HEE HEE HEE -ing screeching out our doors and windows at all hours every time I realize that it's for real. Or when I am reading my own stuff and get blown away by a phrase or sentence only to realize I WROTE THAT! Down, ego, down.

So, that said, I have a major portion of book to finish and everything but the first few chapters to re-write and the Golden Heart deadline is only weeks away. If it weren't for the $50 I already paid them, I'd probably just forget about it. NOT!!!!! Ego can carry you a long way, even providing you with the audacity to enter the contest of all contests with your very first book.

Hee hee hee.

Wasting Away Again in More Revisions-ville

Not a pretty day. I am just now finishing revising the synopsis again and am heading into chapter revisions. The pace will probably pick up despite the fatigue and I hope to get a couple of hours in before I have to sleep.

Did a lot of "mind writing" today -- that seemingly blank, empty, wasted time when writers just sit and stare at the wall or the TV or the cat. Wandered into the other blog to empty some of my brain so I could get on with writing the book instead, so now I feel more like sucking it in and editing myself. Again.

Besides, tomorrow, as we all know by now, is another day.

Morning Sickness Redux: or No, You Can't Have a New Little Sister Because We Still Haven't Found Out What You Did With the Last One

I have come to the conclusion that my new diabetes medication is ground up pregnancy in pill form. No, seriously, all the symptoms are the same: morning nausea, sudden waves of total exhaustion, loss of appetite, and...did all my bras shrink at once?

Guess I could go metaphorical here and compare birthing a child to birthing a novel, but then we'd all be ill.

The only thing I am even going to try and do today is re-read the synopsis I wrote yesterday and attempt to eat enough to keep me conscious so I can drive to work. And that feels like a major accomplishment considering that just the idea of walking to the refrigerator and LOOKING at food makes me want to barf.

So I don't write anything on paper today, big deal: the head is still full of story. And I have two days off starting tomorrow to write myself silly -- if I can figure out how to duct tape the laptop to the toilet...

ADDENDUM

Okay, so I finish this and decide to Google to see if there actually IS a toilet/computer combo and one of the links that came up was for a Toilet Lock which intrigued me so I opened the window and it popped up a Target ad for breast pumps! HAHAHAAAAAAAAA...urp...excuse me, gotta run...

I Don't Have a Dog, So That Must Be Panic Nipping at My Heels

Okay. I am sitting here half asleep and out of glucose and my brain suddenly farts something about a Columbus Day holiday which I assume means Monday, October 17th -- the last day I have to get this revision in the mail. So I freak. Then I google holidays and find out it is tomorrow. I am too old for this...

Anyway, I spent today's writing hours revising and rewriting my synopsis, a 10-page limited mini-story about the book. Tried to take the preliminary judges' comments with a few grains of salt and my own observations about what does and does not work in the narrative and characterization . Hopefully, it is now stronger and tighter and will make revising the manuscript itself much easier.

After I finished it, I re-read the whole thing and e-mailed it to a friend for a read-through. We both cried. She re-read it later and cried even more.

Hell, it's my story. I know what happens. I've known for over a year. I've rewritten it a gazillion times. For goodness sakes, I made it all up.

But I still cried.

Is that cool, or what?

Deciding to Stay on the Pot

We've all heard the old adage that in times of stagnant indecision, we must choose between dumping our load of ca-ca where we sit or getting up from the porcelain throne and quit taking up time and space.

Recently, I was teetering on the brink of standing up and moving on from my hopes for a writing career. Everything in my little corner of the world seemed to be conspiring to once again postpone my plans for a literary life. It seemed much more feasible to just keep the writing filed away under its old label of "hobby," and get back to living a "normal" life that better suited the needs of friends and family. Same old sell-out, but, at my advancing age, it felt frighteningly irreversible and permanent -- like I was preparing for and participating in the death of my lifelong dream.

So I put away my work in progress, a novel with a planned completion deadline for the end of October, and instead began collecting paint samples and fabric swatches for remodeling projects. Weeding flower beds took precedence over revisions. It had been days since I picked up a book to read - the pain of a completed work was just too painful in light of my own miscarried creation. Is this sounding like the ultimate pity-party or what?

But then the phone rang.

And a stranger's voice informed me that I was a finalist in the Golden Pen contest, that my entry would be forwarded to the final judges -- a senior editor at Harlequin books and a well-known agent. I would have two weeks to revise and get the hard copies back in their hands. Two weeks. And then she offered me the possibility that should either of the final judges like my work, they could request to see the complete manuscript. Complete -- as in totally finished by the end of October.

Deja vu.

And just like that I am back on the pot. Taking the proverbial dump? Perhaps. After all, I have spent over half a century consuming a lifetime of experiences and people and emotions, digesting their essences into the creative guano that provides nutrition for my fertile imagination. And can I break through the accumulation of doubt into the freedom of free-fall writing? I hope so. The revisions have to be in the mail by Monday, October 17. The entire manuscript must at least be in draft form by October 31.

Did I mention the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart competition and its deadline of completed and polished manuscript in their hands by December 1? No?

Then on November 1, I begin the daily grind of participating in the Novel in a Month event which aims for completing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. After what I have to do in October, it should be a piece of cake. Or not. Either way, the journey will be recorded here for prosperity. And hopefully, by the time December rolls around I will have the basis of my next novel, and a new deadline looming.

Because regularity is a wonderful thing -- as is a dream resurrected.