Writing in my sleep?

I woke up, rolled over, squinted at the clock which I couldn’t read, turned off the rain (okay, I turned off the noise machine that was set to “rain”) reached for my glasses, and…they weren’t there!

Did you catch where I said I couldn’t read the clock? I once told a friend who’d worked at an optician’s my exact prescription. She collapsed into a puddle of giggles before breathlessly gasping, “Oh my god, you’re blind!”

I don’t find it that amusing.

Especially when I can’t find my glasses, which should have been on the bedside table where I leave them (within reach, in case I have to read the freaking clock). So I got up and patted down every inch of night table surface, but they weren’t there. Then I got on my hands and knees and started patting the floor (without my glasses I literally cannot see my own feet so I sure as hell can’t see anything on the floor) thinking maybe the glasses had fallen to the floor.

The Dog of Death thought this was an exciting new game (more joy before I’d had coffee) I considered killing him.

My glasses were nowhere to be found. This could only mean one thing…well, two.

1) Apparently I did my annoying sleepwalking thing last night wearing my glasses

2) They could be anywhere.

So I stumbled out to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. (already made, cup next to the carafe, so no mishaps) I patted down the kitchen counters and table. No eyeglasses.

Then I remembered I had an old pair in a box on my dresser, so I carefully made my way back to the bedroom, rummaged through the box and found the frames…of my prescription sunglasses. They were better than nothing (but not much since it’s a grey, overcast day)

So now I could sorta see…except for the fact it was dark and this was an outdated prescription so I ended up with an instant headache. It was time to commence the Great Eyeglass Hunt.

I looked in the fridge (I’ve been known to leave the phone in the fridge so this made perfect sense to me…) I looked in the bathroom, I lifted the seat cushions in the living room, and finally, finally I found them on my desk in my office.

Which begs the question: Was I trying to write in my sleep???

Almost…there…

Nearing race day is similar to approaching the end of a book (and vice-versa). I’m filled with a mixture of excitement and dread.

I can’t wait to cross the finish line, but at the same time I worry that I can’t.

Which is silly. Everything I’ve done in my book and in my half-marathon training has lead up to this. All I’ve got to do is put one word after the other (or one foot in front of the other) and I’ll coast on through.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself…

It’s National Adopt a Dog Month

Tasha, our pitbull mix, was not lucky enough to be born a lap dog, but she thought she was

I avoided this scene for a good reason

So yesterday I buckled down and worked on just one project. Not the shiny, new one, but the WIP that needs to be finished already.

It took me three hours to finish writing one scene. One scene! Not even the entire scene…I just had to finish it!

Like I said, I avoided this scene for a good reason: it was practically impossible. Maybe other writers can easily pound out a scene where four characters are arguing, but not me. It was torture. I finally wrote it in screenplay format to get the dialogue and order out of the way, and then adapted it to something that resembles a novel scene (I hope!).

But now I’m past it (yay!) so I’m hoping today’s work is easier.

You know it’s a good idea when

it keeps you up at night. I’m really excited about my next project, which is both a blessing and a curse.

It’s always good to be excited about an idea, BUT when that distracts you from finishing your current WIP it’s not so hot.

And then if you’re like me, you start to beat yourself up for both not finishing the first project, and not giving the second book all the attention it deserves.

It’s a vicious cycle.

My agent is not going to publish my book

How many freakin’ times do I have to explain that my agent is not going to publish my book?

I am so tired of explaining this over and over and over and over and over again to the same damn people. I don’t mind explaining it once (although for the life of me, I can’t think of a single “agent” of any kind who doesn’t act as a go-between, can you? I don’t expect a real estate agent to buy my house, I don’t expect Derek Jeter’s agent to get up to bat, I don’t expect Sandra Bullock’s agent to finance her next movie) but okay, I’ll take into account that the publishing world is not the center of everyone’s universe, and I’ll gladly explain how it works.

Once.

‘cuz quite frankly I don’t think it’s that freakin’ complicated. But when I have to explain to the same person three or four times how it works I get pissed off. If you can’t retain that simple piece of information, just do me a giant favor and don’t pretend to be interested.

Before you go thinking that this rant is directed at one particular individual, let me make myself clear: it’s not. I’ve had this happen with at least six different people.

And yes, they’re currently at the top of my shit list.

Of course they’re followed by the people who say, “You should publish it yourself.”

I heart Wikipedia and Long Suffering

(but not in that order)

I complained to Long Suffering that I was referencing the Talmud in my WIP and that I needed to explain what the Talmud is (since I assume the average reader won’t know) and he helped me figure out how to do it. Thanks hon!

But then I had to come up with a super-simple explanation that wouldn’t take up time or pull a reader out of the story and was stumped, until I remembered Wikipedia. If you’re ever looking for simplistic explanations that can be understood by the masses, Wikipedia is THE place to go.

“I draw the alphabet with my feet.”

I am one of those people who needs to learn lessons again and again. And again.

Case in point: I KNOW I should never talk to anyone right after I’ve been writing. My brain is working on another wavelength…which means my mouth shouldn’t be working at all.

Last night I’d been writing and had lost track of time and rushed out to meet Long Suffering. I hopped into the elevator and looked at the woman already in there, all decked out in her Under Armour from head to toe. She was stretching and rolling her left ankle. And idiot me decided to offer unsolicited advice.

“I draw the alphabet with my feet.”

I saw the flash of fear in the woman’s eyes. She was trapped in a tiny moving box with a madwoman.

So I tried to make her feel better. “I draw the alphabet with my feet. It helps stretch your ankles. It really works. I read it in a magazine once, and I know it sounds crazy…”

Note: If you have to say, “I know it sounds crazy” you’ve already sounded crazy and now you’re just making things worse.

I should have taken the stairs.

12 miles done

Meant to post this a couple of days ago — sorry! I wrote it right after my workout and didn’t realize it hadn’t posted.

The end of training is in sight. In fact, today I did my last long workout — 12 miles.

I’d like to thank the weather for being absolutely perfect today…nice and cool, partly sunny skies, lower humidity.

I’m grateful for the weather because most everything else was less than perfect. Usually the ride to the park takes 15 minutes…today it took 45. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, but I had something to get back to when I was done and I’d built in that 30 minutes into the planning of my timetable ((sigh)).

Then, because of last night’s rainstorm, the path was strewn with wet fallen leaves (slippery!) and acorns (ankle alert! ankle alert!).

Then they decided to pave the path (which I didn’t find out until I’d gone 4 miles out and had turned around) so my route back entailed a detour through the woods on the horse path. (I’m beyond directionally challenged on a road. I got so freakin’ turned around in the woods I wanted to scream.) So now instead of pavement, I’m trying to run/walk over muddy ash or something (which meant I had to stop TWICE to shake pebbles out of my shoes) while dodging giant piles of horse shit (another reason to be grateful it was cool today!).

BUT…and this is a giant BUT… I did it. TWELVE FREAKIN miles. That is awesome. And painful. But awesome. And exhausting. But ultimately, AWESOME!

The Body Bag in the Garage

So there’s been a body bag in the garage of my building for two days now. It’s killing me.

Okay, maybe it’s not a real body bag, but it is a black, zippered closed, shiny plastic and big enough to hold a body. I’m pretty sure there’s gym equipment in it…maybe stuff for lacrosse or hocky.

I’m pretty sure…then again, it IS right next to the incinerator room.

Have I mentioned not peeking inside is killing me?