I believe I have some ‘splaining to do for not posting in a while. What it really comes down to is I break a lot of rules, and not just writing rules, but all kinds of rules, especially airplane rules when they have the fasten seatbelt sign still illuminated after the third round of beverages. I mean, really? We’re not all blessed with elephant bladders. And stop signs aren’t meant for a full completion, that’s why those self-driving cars are getting into accidents. (News Flash: Humans are too unpredictable.) And I refuse to have mattress tags in my house, regardless of jail time.
So, back to the writing rules before this post turns into a full blown rant, cuz I’m always one step away.
I’ve been working more on manuscript #1 after a wonderful, constructive, agent critique. Now I shouldn’t be relying on agents for this, I know. I should be joining a writing group. But I already have a Costco membership, and more plastic in an already fat wallet full of rewards/points/loyalty/discount cards will kill the sciatica. (Damn people, just give me the discount! And stop asking me to fill out a survey for it. You gotta fill out a survey for everything these days. Even breathing. Like all I have time for is sitting at home reviewing my experiences buying bird food and cans of beans like it was a mind-bending event. I’d write a novel about it if it made good literature. But it doesn’t. So keep your 5% off and leave me alone.) (See, I broke my no-ranting rule.) (But if you rant within parenthesis, it doesn’t count.) (I made up that rule.) (Feel free to use it.)
So I broke that have a good writing schedule rule and wrote like a madman. I had all sorts of ideas popping up at random times, which had me flying to my computer, closing the door, hissing at people who are knocking, asking about unimportant things like meals and laundry and how to solve quadratic equations like I wasn’t an English major and didn’t dream about returning to my high school math teacher one day and saying, “See, Mr. P? I told you I’d never use algebra! Muhahaha.” And how can I possibly focus on sock pairing when I’ve left my character dangling on a cliff?
And the problem is, I’m a closet writer. I should really march out and declare equal rights, parading around congress wearing nothing but pages of classics, but the closet is quite comfortable really. Low expectations. Low demands. Very little pity involved. It’s wonderful. Actually it’s a writer’s paradise. Plus, it’s very quiet in there.
Also when you don’t explain your time to anyone, good comedy follows. People think you’re really spacy and flaky and are prone to agoraphobia. Someone can be talking about boring things, while I flesh out plot holes. I do it all the time and miss important stuff, like when I’m next in line.
“Miss, your turn.”
“What? Who? Do you really think that would work? Can I kill him off?”
You see the dilemmas this can cause, not to mention calls to security. And if you looked at my Internet history I look like a real nutcase, like I’m a hypochondriac killer. WedMD is really concerned about me. I think they’ll track me down to research this medical mystery woman. I’m working on a novel now (#2) where I need to know the DUI laws, but too much research has lawyers circling and ads popping up everywhere like I’m some law-breaking louse. I don’t break those rules, man. Come on.
I’ll conclude with an apology for my random, unscheduled, undisciplined, scattered blog postings. I appreciate y’all greatly. Just think of me as a box of chocolates and not that crazy Aunt Tilly who smells like peppermint body spray. And if I’m off the radar, it means I’m deep into novel writing. Or I’ve been accused of a crime I did not commit. In that case, call a lawyer.
(Leave off the “s” for savings!)