*Narrows eyes at blank sheet of paper
Hey, look at that, it’s no longer blank. Sometimes that’s all it takes to get a story flowing. Just move your fingers, write a sentence. Your brain will carry it on.
Sometimes. And then there are times like today, wherein I’d rather stare at a wall than write a word. Even a single word.
Now I’m thinking about pizza. But I really don’t want this entire blog to be nothing plus walls plus pizza. It sounds like you’re theoretically waiting in line at a restaurant, not even a good restaurant…although, if there’s a line, we can assume it at least has decent food. Unless it’s the only pizza in town. Then it’s just…sad.
Like I said last week, I printed my first draft of Olympus. And I’m currently halfway through my first physical re-read/edit of the manuscript. It’s got some rough patches, of course. It’s a first draft. It’s like this blog, except with more spelling mistakes because I’m not looking at six pages—I’m looking at 200 pages and I wrote all of them in a hurry.
There are times when my fingers can’t keep up with my brain, and those are the best of days. I am a current of story. One second it’s morning, and the next my stomach is growling because it’s night and I really should go to bed. But I don’t. Because story.
Today is not one of those days. Those days come best when I can take a week off of work and live in my cabin, get up early, nap when I’m tired, get the book done. When I was in between retail jobs, that wasn’t so hard. I’d move on, take a couple of weeks off, and write my books. But now…well, I’ve got a good job, so my writing has suffered accordingly. One simply cannot have it all.
That’s alright, though. I’m still getting writing done. I just have to kick my social life out the door and bury my weekends under paper and ink.
It was hard enough to focus on writing before I discovered Breath of the Wild.
Now it’s damn-near impossible. Last night, I admittedly only gave my manuscript an hour before I was playing Zelda and listening to my third run of Deep Space Nine. There’s something so awesome about having a beloved TV show on in the background and a beloved video game in the foreground. I’m just as content as content can be.
But, of course, there’s a nagging sense of guilt forever in the back of my brain. I should have had Olympus in my beta’s eager hands months ago. I promised them months ago. I promised myself months ago.
And yet, here we are.
I’m doing my best. Of that, I am certain. My brain doesn’t work well when it’s fatigued (whose does?!) and I want this book to be the best possible book it can be. And I know it sounds like I’m just trying to justify my laziness, but there’s a reason for that.
It’s because I am.
So yes yes, I’m going to go edit. I’ll have the cat hide the Switch. I’ll unplug my brain. Or, rather, plug it in? I don’t know. The point is, I’ve got a lot of work to do and a short time to do it in so *peace*.
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey it’s Friday.
This coming Sunday is my sister’s birthday, so naturally, the entire weekend revolves around the WeeBear. And no, that’s not actually her alias for the blog. It’s her nickname, and I use it with pride. If y’all have met my sister, you’d know. She’s a WeeBear.
Tonight, we celebrated with game night with a couple of friends. Pizza and pop, chips and deck building games as only we know how. Then a slaughterhouse of Halo: Reach. I usually clean up at Halo and get my ass handed to me in the deck building game (Tanto Cuore, for those of you who’re in the loop).
I preformed a little differently this evening, in that I got my ass handed to me in both.
If you haven’t played Tatno Cuore, and you like deck building, I can’t recommend it enough. It’s a fast-paced game (although, admittedly, it takes quite a bit longer when we do it, because WeeBear and I have to slog through the rules every time…we’re just that bad) with unique concepts and cute art.
My cat was also a theme, as she decided to both attack and cuddle, to bag and not to bag. She didn’t draw much blood, so that was a bonus. These two gaming friends are the only two in my circle who are brave enough to pet ole Nymie Nagini. She doesn’t hate it. Well, maybe she hates it. But she doesn’t hide from them, and that really says something.
So, day one of the WeeBear weekend was a success. And there were brownies. And root beer. So, really, how bad could it be?
Day two of WeeBear weekend should have involved horses.
But the dear WeeBear has been under the weather with a cold foreeeeeeeeeeeeevvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr and we ended up cancelling at the last minute. I felt bad for her, although it did allow me a few hours to work on my book, so in that, I was grateful. Otherwise, we ate Chinese and watched a couple of movies as only sisters know how.
What movies, you ask? Or rather, I’m going to ask for you. Because, frankly, that’s about all I have to talk about this Saturday. Anyway, we watched Mama Mia 2 and, for a change in gears, Primal Fear.
Yeah, you can strip your gears if you change directions that abruptly.
Here’s our reasoning. It’s Weekend of the WeeBear, and so the WeeBear gets to pick the movie. The first movie. Because after that musical madness, I was about ready to run up a wall screaming. Like a demon. Or a suddenly doused cat.
I don’t hate musicals. I mean, I can’t think of a single one right now that I don’t hate, but I’m sure there is one out there…
- Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. That’s the exception to the rule. I love that show so much. I can sing literally every song from start to finish and, if you take a road trip with me, that is exactly the madness you will be subjected to.
But other than that, I truly dislike musicals. And Abba has never been my favorite, so the entire movie was basically too-sweet candy stuck in my back teeth. After that, I needed to see some blood and feel a little suspense. Primal Fear was the first movie I found in my parent’s movie library that sort of fit that description.
And now that I work at a law firm, I watched it with a completely new attitude.
Today, we truly celebrate the birth of the WeeBear.
I got up early and pounded a couple cups of coffee whilst making her wrapping paper. Yes, making. I refuse to buy something that I could make myself. And, frankly, my wrapping paper is better than your wrapping paper. WeeBear’s was brown with little yellow/red flowers. And it contained a gift certificate for a massage and a butterfly wall hanging, so what’s not to like?
Next, we got together for my mom’s breakfast of blueberry crepes. Now, my mumsie doesn’t cook often, and she doesn’t cook a lot, but when she does cook, those few dishes are cooked to perfection. Her blueberry crepes are a birthday staple at the Williams household and WeeBear and I weren’t about to break tradition.
After, I spent my morning cutting up fruit for my world-famous mango salsa. Next, spicing up some chicken and steak. Last, I started cooking the yummies for tacos. I’m a bit of a taco snob. Well, perhaps not a snob, because I will enjoy a cheap taco as well as a fancy dooded up taco. So, I’m a taco enthusiast.
I also rarely buy something that I can make, as I said, so I make good tacos. Freshly spiced, juicy meat. Fresh salsa and guac, queso fresco (literally fresh cheese) and cilantro. My tacos are the best tacos, and I’m drooling right now just thinking of them.
Then we played games with Arthur (look at that! He kept the same alias…maybe we’ve found a keeper) and his wonderful parents, Andria and Marcus (who are WeeBear and I’s godparents and have been part of my life since I was born). I wish WeeBear hadn’t still been sick, but otherwise it was a perfect day. I love you, sister.
How is it Monday already???!
It’s obnoxious. Where did my weekend go? What weekend?
Alright, time to freshen up my attitude. This Monday isn’t so bad. Work was busy and therefor went quickly. I grabbed my manuscript and ripped through some more chapters. I didn’t hate them. I can definitely tell where I have edited before, and where it’s still the fresh, stinky sludge straight out of my brainpan.
Ew. Editing really sounds disgusting.
I also knew that I had left over tacos waiting for me at home, so that also helped the day dance along. I made quesadillas, since the tacos were a hot mess, and rolled around in some guilt-free game time for Breath of the Wild, since I’d done such a fine job of editing earlier.
All in all, it was the least Monday Monday.
Until I looked at the forecast. Then, Monday Mondayed so hard, it shat itself.
There’s snow in the future, dear readers. Winter is coming. Again. And we’re about to be treated to the blizzard of our year. My little corner of Minnesota is supposedly going to get less than to the south, but still. It’s obnoxious no matter where it is. Whoever prayed to the Night King, I’m going to murder you. Winter has had its hurrah. Give it up already.
And that’s a wrap.
Another week, gone. Is it just me, or does everyone hear that in Dumbledore’s voice? I think it’s the end of the first movie, and he says Another year—gone! I literally can’t unhear that. It also makes me happy, because who wouldn’t want a little Dumbledore living in their brain, bespeaking the end/beginning of things?
So, happy Tuesday dear readers. It’s been a good week. Mostly productive, a little busy, a lot of celebrating WeeBear. And hey, why not? WeeBear deserves to be celebrated.
I know that there’s snow on the horizon, gloomy weather ahead. And I’m certainly not looking forward to driving to work Thursday and Friday. But hey. Right now the sun is shining, it’s a balmy 36 degrees Fahrenheit, and I’m sitting with my finished book by my elbow. And a glass of pink wine by my other elbow, so that’s probably why I’m suddenly so positive. Whatever works.
I hope that next week’s blog with end with me sending my manuscripts off to my beta readers. In fact, I’m going to make that my goal. I always run faster when I can see the finish line (theoretically, as I’ve only ever run two races in my life and the first one we do not speak of) and I can only see the finish line if I make one. So there. By the end of next week’s blog, I’ll have sent my babies off to the world.
Well, to a small, meticulously groomed, carefully selected portion of the world. Can’t just be throwing those babies around. Not until they themselves are groomed.
And even then. Don’t throw my books.