Wynderlon

I’m really frustrated right now. I have 2-3 chapters of “Tayce” left and then the book is DONE. Finished. Well, all except editing, but still, the hardest part (writing the damn thing) is over. I could belt those chapters out in a DAY if I was given the unadulterated time to do so — unfortunately, lately life has different plans for me. Specifically, this week has just SUCKED so far, which is horrible since tomorrow is my birthday and I’m having a tough time getting into the celebratory mood.

I am wound tighter than a spring. These past few days, I’ve woken up with a stiff back and headaches, dead tired because I’ve been having a hard time getting to sleep in the first place. It seems every day this week, starting with Sunday, I get one stressful, drama-filled, no-holds-barred, sucker-punch-and-then-laugh-in-your-face moment after another. Bad news here, worse news there; someone then inevitably wants to talk about the bad news they’ve just given me while I’m still reeling and trying to adjust my life accordingly. Worst (or maybe funniest?) thing about it is that every time someone’s given me stressful/bad news this week, it’s always ended with, “Sorry about this, I mean, your birthday is this week and I know I shouldn’t've said anything, but I felt you should know” — or something like that. Another popular one is, “Don’t worry, we’ll work something out. This doesn’t have to be bad.”

Right, like being stabbed in the gut doesn’t mean you have to die. Ugh, and that’s my ultra drama statement for the week. The point is all I want to do is write the final battle scene in Tayce, finish the book, and open some bubbly champagne to celebrate.

But I can’t. I can’t even concentrate on one task; I keep jumping around nervously from one thing to another without really finishing anything. I’ll be glad when I get to the gym today, work off some of this nervous energy in the pool.

By the looks of it, “Tayce” is going to be a couple thousand words over 150k when it’s done. *wince*

I actually like Lady Gaga’s music, and her outfits are wild. But this music video may top all the previous ones. It’s bizarre…oh, and not work safe (and look! It’s Beyonce and the Pussy Wagon from Kill Bill!). Enjoy

I’m pissed at my memory. When I was driving this morning, I managed to work out most of Chapter 26 of “Tayce” in my head. It worked well, it was dramatic, it was exactly what I wanted.

I often work scenes out in my head while I’m driving (don’t worry, I also drive ). But, between driving, getting home, making myself breakfast, etc., etc. I forgot to write the scene down. You know how it is, you get into other things and you overestimate your ability to remember things. When I sat down in front of the computer, I tried to shuffle through my memory and found very little from my brainstorming left. Sure, I ended up with something good, acceptable, but not as great as what I was thinking this morning.

I’ve decided what I need is something that will record all my musings. Something that’s hands free, that I don’t need to switch on and off, and doesn’t involve the embarrassment of hearing your own recorded voice. I need Didi, Judy’s digital diary from the Jetson’s…except, you know, with less backtalk and snarky replies. And maybe looking like something other than giant floating lips (it would be a little creepy to have ruby red lips floating towards you).

I think I’ll add that to “inventions that would really help a writer” right after “completely waterproof laptop/netbook.” (hey! I know I’m not the only one who gets really good ideas in the bathtub!)

I think I’m coming down with a cold. My throat feels like hamburger, but what’s worse is my ear aches too. I have to be careful that I don’t get an ear infection (I’m prone to those). I’m such a wimp when it comes to sore throats. Give me stuffy noses and wet/dry coughs any day, but sore throats and I’m done.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a sack of wet oatmeal. I’m going back to bed after taking some Advils. See you in two hours.

It’s stuff like this that creates the stereotype of “uneducated American hicks” and shows like Smarter than a Fifth Grader. Ugh, “What’s 9 meters in English?” *wince* Painful (but I’d also be lying if I said it wasn’t funny).