You know, it is so incredibly lame I haven’t found the time, space and energy to post here. But I haven’t.

New Work is kicking my butt, but it should settle down as early as next week–I worked both Saturday and Sunday of last week, and am still exhausted. I am juggling New Work, Old Work and Mom-and-Wife Work, so I haven’t had much time to do anything else. Including, yay, being bored or feeling useless.

I’m reading A TON, which is great. The subway ride is a blessing.

I plan to start writing my own fiction again next week–I had a thought for a future scene in the Urban Fantasy, and I believe there is a need for a snarky UF romance, and I think I’ve got that in spades. Now if I can only finish the book . . .

Meanwhile, I’ve got ideas clamoring for attention in my head, which is nifty, too.

But other than the usual–anxiety, sleep deprivation, obsession with dark, angsty heroes, never getting enough coffee, being happy at how fantastic my son is, laundry, Indian food and hoop earrings–I’ve got nothing. Not a thing.

I am, to my own dismay, rather boring right now. Rats.

Heh. At first I typed “Carp,” as in “Carpitty carp,” which made me laugh. Not so much laughing today, though; am working through obsessive thoughts and a wee bit of depression (nothing a clean house and someone else to cook couldn’t cure, but that’s not happening, so there you go).

I am not writing today to preserve the safety of my characters. In the mood I’m in today, I might accidentally leave a guillotine out for them to find. An abrupt ending to an otherwise light-hearted (relatively) book.

Not writing tomorrow, either, since I’m doing a field trip with the son’s class. All day. 24 fifth graders. Now THAT is a carpitty carp kind of day.

Ruh-roh. I am becoming one of those batty ladies who dismisses things and people out of hand, just because I’ve taken an inexplicable dislike to them (as in, Julia Roberts. What has she ever done to me?)

But in this case, I think it’s entirely explicable. Because really, Mariah, would it kill you to go up a size? Talk about your golden globes:

Plus she does that dumb diva wave thing, where she waves like a three year-old, flapping her fingertips against her palm instead of waving like a normal person.

I know. A perennial question (or, in my case, daily. Hourly. Minutely, even!). But I ask myself why do I keep trying to do this thing that is a) so hard and b) interferes with what else I have to do when c) things are just not happening?

In order not to jump out the window (likely another fruitless exercise, since we only have two floors in the house), I am going to try to answer the question:

1. Because I think I am funny.
2. Because otherwise how could I justify spending so much time on reading?
3. Because it makes me feel good when I’ve done it.
4. And not just like a frustrated SAHM.
5. Because, as Amanda pointed out recently, if I don’t do it, then nothing WILL happen.
6. And I get to see my friends at conferences. If I weren’t trying to do it at all, I would have no excuse for seeing them. And now some of my best friends are fellow writers.
7. Uh–more excuse to watch hawt guys in historical films?
8. That’s such a good answer it gets two bullet points.
9. That’s it.
10. Tapped out.

But writing tomorrow, for sure.

PS: Reading The Watchmen. WHOA! The narrative structure blows me away!
PPS: Found pix of Richard Armitage not in character, begging the non-PC question: Is he dressed like that because he’s gay, or because he’s British? Apparently he is not gay.

Have I mentioned the Synopsis From Hell?

Well.

The Alpha Sparkle Dog read pages from the current Work in Progress (which implies that it’s in progress, which is a crock according to my own work habits), and said, gently, that perhaps a synopsis would be useful.

At which point–and this was about a month ago–I froze in terror.

I can’t write a synopsis. But I have to. Irresistible Force, meet Immovable Object.

So I started writing one yesterday. I’ve got three paragraphs. Three more paragraphs than I’ve managed to achieve in the past month. Yay? Sorta?

Anyhoo, I think this book is good, and I’d like to finish writing it. But in order to finish, I think I need a synopsis. There’s that Force/Object conundrum again.

And now off to futz around doing Important Things for the Spouse. Great way to procrastinate.

Megan

PS: CindyS, the Armitage thing is when he’s on Season 7 of MI-5, which is available from Netflix at the end of this month. He plays a spy who’s been captive in Russia for eight years, hence the tats and general bad attitude. Rowr.

So a couple of nights ago we watched X-Men Origins: Wolverine, which of course I wanted to see because of the hotness of Hugh Jackman, plus I always liked Wolverine, back when the Soon-To-Be Spouse and I watched the Saturday morning X-Men cartoons (Beast is my dream man, but that’s another story).

Wow, how disappointing. I could go over all the story duds, but I am sure people far more versed in X-Men lore have done that. My favorite part, though, has to be when the Kindly Old Couple(tm) say they couldn’t leave him in the barn because it was too cold–and then in practically the next scene he’s in the barn with no shirt on! Does he run hot or something? And if so, why make a point of mentioning the barn is hot? And that wasn’t nearly the only time the guy shed his upper layer. I like me some Jackman chest, but it got to be ridiculous. And Swiss cheese shoulda been insulted at all the plot holes. I liked Liev Schrieber as Sabretooth, though.

Before that, the Super-Smart Lawyer and I watched Lost In Austen, which we both quite enjoyed–it starts out slow, but really gets engrossing after maybe half an hour.

And in case you think all I do is sit around watching movies, I have done edits on half my book, the removing the Two Big Plot Threads, at least. Then I get to stitch it all back together. Yikes.

Okay, first off, is my entire life RUN BY LYRICS? Because I thought ‘oh, I’m gonna write about something serious, way more substantive than what I usually blather about’ and the first thing that pops into my head is that stupid Jermaine Jackson song! Which I then had to google to discover it was Jermaine who sung it in the first place (not that lazy ass Tito), and now it’s stuck in my head.

But anyway.

Today I wrote, nearly 2000 words, on what I am grandly calling the women’s fiction contemporary. Although it’s really contemporary romance, only it was FOUR–count ‘em four–points of view, so it’s broader than straight contemp, I think. And I am trying to figure out the overriding conflict, and it’s just–the conflict is just LIFE and living it, and my characters muddling through. I need to throw in some extra drama, too, so I am trying to make it about money, which is always a motivating factor.

And the new Park Slope Mom book has just come out, to much excitement, optioned by Sarah Jessica Parker and stuff, and I keep wondering if there are any legs to my Mothering Heights book, which has a similar–albeit not as wide in scope–premise, or if that book is just self-indulgent Megan being funny without an overriding conflict (sense a theme?). My agent likes the book, but doesn’t rep those kinds of books. Not sure what the next step is. Or maybe there is no next step.

Of course I am torn in a gazillion directions, because there’s this shiny historical project that is so much FUN to write, not like this 100+ page thing with no O.C. (shorthand for overriding conflict, you know) with which I am currently wrestling. But the 100+ page thing is good, I think, and funny, and if it works into something bigger, could be a real book.

Blecch. And, as usual, I have to go resume being Mom and save the writer angst until later. Or keep it inside my head where it is normally.

Geez, this is a long post for me, huh? I must be really agitated.

Thanks for letting me share.

So this week is the first official week of Summer Vacation for the boy. And yesterday, my freelance job told me I had to turn all my stuff in by Wednesday, shortening my work week by two days. And I had a big home project to do on top of it all, plus I am trying not to become a cow during the summer, so working out was essential.

I drank way too much coffee, did a whole bunch of work, and couldn’t sleep that well last night. Usually I can even go to sleep after drinking a pot of coffee (yeah, that’s right, that’s how sleep-deprived I am), but last night was not so good.

So today I have another full slate of work to do, not too much sleep to fuel myself with and coffee is helping, but not enough.

Gah. So if I am silent over the next few days, that’s why. Head down, nose to grindstone. Will emerge later.

I reached my immediate goal of 25,000 words (25,077, actually), and sent it off to the Delightful Phone Friend, who has promised to give me her honest opinion.

Before that, I put in the obligatory appearance at the school picnic, where I stood with other parents and chatted. A lot of chatting. It only felt like I was an inappropriate oddball a few times, thank goodness, and then the Son had a playdate and I tried to catch up on freelance work–the paying job.

And the So Much More Sociable Than I, Although He Wouldn’t Admit It, Not For A Second Spouse is going out tonight, so I’ll be ironing shirts and watching Wire in the Blood. There might be a beer or two involved also.

It’s been a weird day, ’cause I spent way too much time at the computer, and have that vaguely dissatisfied computer feeling when you’ve internet od’ed.

But I did reach the goal. Tomorrow I break ground on the Big, Fun Paranormal Idea, which I have been dying to do (not literally–it’s not that kind of paranormal. I leave the deathy-gruesome stuff to people who can do it much better than I).

So last night I watched Punisher: War Zone, a hyper-violent (based on a video game, so what would you expect?) movie starring Ray Stevenson, who I really liked in HBO’s Rome. Plus I love really stupid action movies, and this fit the bill.

Stevenson was really good in the part, given that he was playing a completely-obsessed man bent on revenge. Didn’t overplay it, was believable in the action sequences and plus he’s foxy.

Okay. So all good. Thus far. But The Wire’s Dominic West was also in it, playing a mega-baddie whose face gets mangled in a glass recycling machine. Not the most overdone of the moments in the film. That’s how over-the-top it was. West’s accent is a grotesque caricature of NY accents, his acting is equally overdone. I was hoping his conniving blackmailer role in 300 was an aberration, but apparently not. I couldn’t help but wonder–who the hell told him THIS would be a good part for him?

The same person who thought Deadwood’s Timothy Olyphant should play a goofy love interest opposite Jennifer Garner? Or worse, the bald, sociopathic assassin in another video game to movie The Hitman?

I will follow neither West nor Olyphant into their next forays. And I like bad movies.