Did I mention I am supposed to be working right now? Did I mention that I promised myself NO computer for the love of all things internetish (It is so a word) I will NOT go online at all until I work. Just let me check email real quick. And of course send off a few emails that I have been meaning to write. Oh, and I really do need to check up on a few blogs. It would be flat out rude to not comment on some. What? An instant message from someone in crisis? (Hey, not having a dinner plan at 4:30om is SO a crisis.)
Did I mention that I am supposed to be working right now? Ewww, what is that smell? I better clean the kitchen to make sure that it isn’t something that spilled. And I can’t have a clean kitchen and a dirty kitchen floor. I better sweep and mop. Then again, if I sweep and mop the kitchen, the play room- and all of it’s openness to the kitchen- will look so messy. I guess I better clean it up.
Did I mention that I am supposed to be working right now? “Working on what?” you ask (since we all know that I have no job outside of this home and all of those things I am using to procrastinate are usually considered my job). I am supposed to be working on my book. Why would you be doing that, you ask yourself. (Go on. Ask yourself.) Well, I am supposed to be working on my book because I promised my agent that I would. Agent? Yes. Hell yes. This week I signed with a real live, living breathing literary agent who represents real live, living breathing authors who write actual books. BOOKS, people. Not just random notes scribbled on the toilet paper during a little “private time.” Not that I have ever done that or anything.
Did I mention that I am supposed to be working right now. Except you see, it is hard to type when you are walking on air and still looking down from cloud 9. And really, it can be quite challenging to type AND pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. I am just saying.
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Family members: 5
Case of strep throat: 4
Ear infections: 6
Mother losing her ever loving mind?: 1
I am pretty sure that whatever brain I had left in my head has melted into a bubbling mass of molten lava onto my laptop. I am the only one in the family NOT sick. They all have strep (including Clint). Every child has double ear infections. (But, the dog didn’t crap on my floor!)
While trying to play Florence Nightingale, I also got to work on my book proposal which entailed it’s own little drama. (Created of course by me in my sleep deprived, crazed mind.)
But I was half sane enough to pick up the phone and call another writer and say things like: “Rgggrgling flegshmeckilany redkfjjhtss.” Somehow he made sense of it all and talked me off of the edge of the curb as I prepared to hurl myself in front of an oncoming bus. Even managed to give me about 45 minutes of encouragement. 45 whole minutes where I was not trying to figure out how to bomb my own house with Lysol!
So I felt good. Honest. I went back to my critique group with my reworked proposal. I heard things like, “That is great! I like your voice coming through. Good job!” It thrilled me.
Until I read the next line by FOUR of them. “…But what makes it different from Book XYZ? It seems very similar. You would have to make it stand out more for me to want to pick yours up.”
BUS?! OH BUS?!! Where art thou?
I am proud of myself though because I didn’t email or call anyone in a fuss and emotional outpouring of Poor Me’s. For a drama queen that is pretty impressive. (Damn friends were probably screening their calls and wouldn’t pick up anyway. And I just may have reached a new level of being added to the spam-blocker of some of my writing buddies as well.)
But my patience did pay off with a very encouraging (and not sought after….much) email from an author that I really admire encouraging me and giving me advice. I decided to end the night on that note.
Not work on my proposal.
Not check my email.
Not contact my critique group.
Not stay in the room with anyone in my family.
And finally, not let the bad days get me down.
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