Well, that charitable streak didn’t last long, did it? Now I am back to being Ranty McRantypants.

So here goes:

Last night, the Framptons went to an outdoors park here in Brooklyn. We brought picnic food, a blanket and a fervent desire to watch Jaws on an outdoor screen.

No, my complaints are nothing to do with how the film was presented–sure, it was hard to see the darker parts, hard to hear sometimes, but it was all part of the experience. That part was cool.

My issue is with the kids who were playing directly behind us. They certainly had energy, I’ll say that much. They were running around and SHRIEKING, at one point all crowing (!) ‘cock-a-doodle-doo!’ while their asshat parents sat in back of them and did nothing. Hello, at what point is it okay to let your kids make a ridiculous amount of noise while at least a hundred other people are trying to watch a movie? These adults would likely be the first ones to complain if my kid started gabbing in the movie theater. AND THEY WOULD BE RIGHT TO COMPLAIN.

My son didn’t let me go talk to the kids to ask them to quiet down, so I seethed for awhile until I was able to block it out.

I hate those parents. The kids I’m okay with–they were just being kids. But the parents were disrespectful and rude.

But. Really.

Okay, so I’m all boo-hoo right now, not seriously so, mind you, but kinda overwhelmed, as per my particular course, and trying to get everything done without forgetting something, and then kinda defeated about how hard some things are.

But–in the midst of this, I am writing, and today I managed to write over 1,000 words, despite wanting to smother myself with a pillow. Yay!

I am more than halfway done with this book, and it’s proving to be a different process than previously: I am well aware that I am writing a ‘rough draft,’ and that one character, in particular, really needs to be drawn better. I can picture him in my head, but so far he’s a dud on page. A foxy dud, but a dud nonetheless.

I do wish I could just finish this thing so I could go back and fix it; I decided not to stop midway because I wasn’t sure how it will end, and I wanted to find that out first before I shaped that character. (Liam. His name is Liam. And he’s still an asshat, despite my trying to mold him into a hero. THAT, my friends, is how I roll).

But I can’t just snap my fingers and have it done, I have another 40,000 words to write (I have 45, 614 as of right this very minute), which is at least 40 days of writing, if I were to be so lucky as to have another good writing day like today. For the next 40 days.

Ruh-roh. Initial waves of overwhelming ‘I can never do it’ roiling up in gut now. Okay. Put that aside now.

As I was saying, once I finish this, I can go back and fix it. I like editing, actually, it’s fun to shape your words and laugh at your own cleverness or identify a problem, as long as you go and fix it.

So, yeah. Like a phoenix from the ashes of my despair, a brightly colored bird is rising. Or something.

Megan

One of the things I found under the tree–which I hinted for so loudly I’m surprised it didn’t cause a tectonic shift when I dropped the hint–was a collection of Lush bath bombs.

You drop them into the water, and they fizz and dissolve, releasing a nice scent and colored water.

I used my first one yesterday.

It was orange and yellow.

Which meant, when it dissolved, that it looked like I was bathing in urine. Made bathtime slightly uncomfortable, because even though I knew it wasn’t, it was disconcertingly . . . yellow.

Can’t WAIT to see what other colors unfold.

*Who bathed in milk, reputedly, but I bet she woulda considered alternatives, if she thought it might improve her skin.

So I was talking with the Alpha Sparkle Dog (whose book is shipping now! Go get it!) about being unable to move forward on a project. We are both experiencing the frozen paralysis of creativity, wherein we distract ourselves with bright, shiny things that are not our writing.

In my case, it’s because I have to write a synopsis. And seriously, there is nothing in writing more that I hate than a synopsis. I don’t know why.

Which, along with all the usual holiday mayhem, is why I haven’t written a word in far too long. I am such a dud.

Must get over self and do something productive. Feel lame elsewise.

Lord, am I a downer lately, or what?

The good news is that I am not *quite* so downtrodden; the bad news? Haven’t managed to write more than 300 words in the past few days.

This morning I headed over to Sunset Park, the Asian section of Brooklyn. My purpose in going was to buy massive amounts of soy sauce for ridiculously low prices, since I am SO not into spending more than a few dollars for a dollop of Kikkoman soy sauce. I was the only Caucasian in the store for the entire time–not something I say to be all ‘aren’t I diverse,’ but because it is so shocking to find that kind of narrow population anywhere in New York City. I found close to two liters of soy sauce, good soy sauce, for around four dollars, and also bought lots of other insanely cheap items, including baby bok choy and lemongrass (!).

I was very excited.

And now I have a fridge-full of snow peas, tofu (on sale!), pork shoulder, edamame, steamed buns, etc. Yay! I am probably the best at cooking Chinese cuisine, although that makes my son sad, since he gets tired of stir-fries.

Tonight, no writing, but yet another middle school information meeting. The good news, again, is that the Son is pretty sure where he wants to go. The bad news is that I want to continue gathering information so we make the best possible decision, hence the many meetings.

The middle school deadline is December 15th. I will HAVE to commit to writing after that–I will have no excuse. Meanwhile, I’m gonna try to nail down the plot, as much as I can.

Megan
PS: I did not buy vegetarian swallow balls, fyi.

So the past three days I’ve been wiped–absolutely wiped–by crazy sinus pain. Which definitely exacerbates the feeling of ‘huh?’ I’ve been experiencing, but doesn’t entirely explain it.

But I digress. I’m in the awful ‘why do I even bother?’ phase of writing. That’s really hard, because I can’t imagine not writing, but I’m also not actively writing, at least not very much. It’s not because I am procrastinating, or lazy (although that charge could be legitimately levied at times), it’s because life otherwise is so busy. But, given that so many other writers handle way more than I do and still produce, perhaps I am lazy? Or bad at time management?

My son is in school from 8:40 until 3:00. That gives me six hours of Son-Free Time. But during this S-F T, I do my freelance work, which takes about three hours. I also handle all the household stuff, go to the gym (usually–today I forgot my stuff, which was fine, because I feel awful anyway), do grocery shopping, errands, etc. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for free-flowing writing. And then, when I can sit down at the computer, I wonder why? Why do I bother? I haven’t gotten much positive affirmation for my writing in the past five years or so, although I have written books. I’ve got a few things out on submission, but I can’t allow myself to be way optimistic, since I have to keep a realistic perspective. So why do I bother?

I would go all woo-woo (Thanks for the verbiage, Picky Vegetarian!) and say it’s because I can’t not write, which is sorta true, but really, would it matter so much if I quit? But then I think about that, and it makes me sick inside. So I flounder along, not writing enough, not producing enough to get myself to the point where I might have a chance for success, and then I beat myself up. Oh, yay.

And then here’s where the Carolyn Jewel example comes in to shame me–Carolyn had early success, then spent a long, long time not being published. And then longer after that not sure she would have a career in writing. But she continued to believe in herself, and did crazy things with time management to make it all work, and now she does have a career, and a good agent, and publishers who believe in her. So why can’t I be as strong as Carolyn? I don’t know.

Anyway. This is a lot longer, and a lot less fun, than my usual posts, so thanks if you made it this far.

Megan
*A Bryan Ferry album, obviously. I like the duality of the image.

Starting maybe last Thursday, I began feeling kinda worn out and slightly achey (more worn out than usual, even). I cancelled plans to go out on Friday, and dragged myself to an event I could not miss on Saturday. Sunday I rallied, somewhat, and did a bunch of housework, including decorating for Halloween (yay! orange candles!).

But today I am beyond blah, so tired and energy-less I could sub for a sloth. And tonight I am going out, there’s a friend in town who I want to see, and tonight’s the only night I can see her. Blah.

So that’s all. More later, when I get more zip.

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.

There are things that I just Do Not Get. Like:

–the Pythagorean Theorem
–how to read a compass
–contrast color shirts (where the collar is white, and the shirt is not; for reference, see any dogmatic white politician or Donald Trump. Shudder).
–texting while eating with someone.
–Ayn Rand
–and annuals.

And it’s the last item that is giving me fits. See, we have a backyard and a front area with a little bit of earth. Cool, right? We’ve got growing things and it is a pleasure to look out in the morning and see the rose bushes. But apparently there are plants called “annuals,” which you plant every year, and then wrench out of the earth when they die, because they do not come back. WTF? So every year you have to head to your local gardening center and pony up cash for plants that bloom once, and are then gone? The Understands Annuals Spouse pointed out that the 12 or so dollars he spent on pansies were well worth it, since they lasted for a few months and I smiled every time I saw them. But still. THEY’RE NOT COMING BACK. And we have to do that whole gardening thing each time.

Just baffles me.