Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Wordy Day, Writer's Self Disgust

(This shoulda been published a while ago. I schedule posts and they just don't happen. Really, to the right of this one is Schedule 6/4/14 5:00 AM Central Daylight Time. Was is published? Did you see it? No.) 

Underneath the heavy boughs of the apple tree, the cat lay, Because the sun dappled shadows shifted and danced with every gentle gust, a casual observer would not have seen the small dark orb the rested against the cat and would have been quite startled when, moments after the cat stretched, the little toad leaned back and stretched out webbed feet, using the cat as a furry recliner. It must have been comfortable for the toad let out a quiet noise almost like a purr, if toads could make such a noise. 

Maryjane reread the page, her expression slack horror. She slammed her pen on the desk. This was horrible! A frog and a cat basking in the shade. What the hell was she thinking? Who did this appeal to. Who would read a story with such an introduction? She wouldn't. "It fucking sucks, is what it does." growled Maryjane. She couldn't write anymore, she hated every single word and she tried to ignore it but it got harder and harder. It was just bad and no amount of pretending it wasn't would make it any better. She picked up her notebook and closed it with the pen inside and then flung it right across the room. Pages fluttered as if the thing was distressed as it sailed across the living room in a great big arc and thwapped against pale yellow wall then slid to the floor. Maryjane jumped at the noise but refused to think she'd overreacted. She was pissed! The world suuuuuuuuuucked.

Sunday, June 1, 2014


So, I lied.

There's no book.

There might be a book,

if I can get over my hangups and hold a keyboard without pain.
I have a job where I spend a lot of time using a keyboard and mouse. Seems every week I manage to injure myself. Mouse arm. Fiery shoulder pain. A back that crackles like a cheap fire cracker. No carpel tunnel yet but, fingers crossed.

I willingly admit that I was overly optimistic. I have a lot of things to do, including move. Somewhere in the middle of things to do is getting over my expectations for the book and actually changing it until it's really good. It doesn't help that beta readers, in my case at least, often shirk their duties.

On the plus side, I will be going to college, at least a bit. I need to talk to a councilor to be sure.
I'm also moving,
and training a cat to live inside
and trying to deal with work
and my boyfriend
who is also starting college.

I hope to spend more time writing once I'm settled. I have actually composed nearly all of a middle grade children's book so I have been writing but, really, that's all I'm capable of before I lose confidence or interest or my body starts to hurt.
Maybe that will do well and help me reestablish confidence in my writing.

I'm a pitiful soul, aren't I just?