The Whole Dirty Deal. Worms and All

I am currently reading, When You Are Engulfed In Flames by David Sedaris. I needed something butt-kicking humor after the past few days that I will attempt to touch on here. The first essay is about worms crawling out of a woman's wound and how this is the topic of conversation one Christmas Eve. Now most might not find the combination of worms and wounds funny, but me and my warped sense of humor finds this topic totally acceptable. This coming from a woman who gave her husband a pain pill instead of his antibiotic yesterday morning. Now, it just so happens, said husband noticed he was awful lightheaded as he drove to work. He then noticed he was going to puke his guts out because he doesn't handle pain pills all so well. And me, the said murderess, is having a fit at home on the phone with him because he tried to make his work deliveries.

Husband: I think I might have to call someone to come get me.

At this point has driven over forty miles from the earth he lives on.

Murderess: I can't believe you went ahead and drove.

Of course this is the guilt speaking.

Husband: I can't take this. I feel so bad.

Murderess: I told you to get some coffee and some food.

Husband: I got to go. I'm going to be sick.

But don't worry. Your favorite all time Writer Woman is not behind bars. No, she's at home reading her book. Said husband made it home, where he slept in the back of the work van for three hours in a rainstorm because he could not walk into the house. Around 8:00 pm he came into the house and passed out on the bed. All this from one pain pill he took twelve hours earlier. This morning said husband woke rested and bright-eyed.

Ah yes worms are a wonderful thing. I'll take worms and wounds any day over my sometimes crazy upside down life.

Signing Off

Murderess

First Day Of School And Writing Routine

Today I saw my daughter off to school. Wow, time flies by. It's so quiet here. In front of me is this large amount of time. Did I say it was quiet here? I miss my daughter calling to me just as soon as I get into the best part of what I'm writing. I never thought I'd miss that.

So this is the first day for both of us. I'm back to writing four to five hours a day. Today I managed three before I broke for a blog break. I'm nearing the end of my novel polishing. In front of me stretches a new project. Many writers hate the first draft part, but I love finding the new voices and following their lead. I love the thought of this so much, I find it hard to focus on finishing this project.

Over the summer I've spent time writing in my notebook. Many sketches for the new project appeared here, but much of it is still too foggy to talk about it. I might talk it away :).

Sometimes it's tough being a writer. Bet you never thought I'd say that! Many people don't get that it is work. They see me as having it made, and in many ways I do. I work on my own time. I don't have a boss breathing down my neck. I knock off when school is over. I have school holidays off. But it is a little harder than it sounds.

First: I set a goal of at least one chapter a day. This runs roughly three to four thousand words. I don't have to show it to anyone, so I can fudge if I want. Sounds good! But to be a professional working at home, I have to produce. So, I'm the boss of me, and let me tell you I'm my own worse nightmare. No writing in pajamas. No being sick. No checking email while writing. No going on the internet. No breaking for coffee and a stretch. Gees, I had it made when I worked in an office.

Second: I have a certain amount of editing I do each day. This requires me to sit someplace and really focus. I can't answer the phone. I can't watch TV. I can't do the dishes from that morning. Edit only.

Third: I only get a half of an hour for lunch. When I worked in an office, I got an hour. Gees.

Fourth: I have to fight off the questions: When are you publishing that book? How much money do you make? Really, how many people do you know asked that question of a corporate professional? Can't you skip writing today so you can do what I need? Now most people don't ask in this way, but they ask this question in many of their own ways. Why does it take so long?

Fifth: Working on the filler stuff. What is filler stuff? It is book reviews, short stories, and book introductions. This is the work that keeps my name out in the publishing world, and yes, brings in some money, so I can answer that income question.

So as you can see, I have to be my own boss, multitask, focus, and develop tough skin. Many of you are saying why do it? Get a job where you're noticed and you can make more money? Are you kidding? This is the best job in all the world and I would not change a thing. I know this each school day when I see my daughter come out of the school looking for me. God, just keep me writing.

Off to edit.
Ann

It Is Done

I have finished the introduction for The Dead Mule! When I really sat down to work on it, I found the job fun. But I must say every time I have to write about myself or my work, I procrastinate. All this begins to happen next week. It's a big deal for me because the mule has never featured a fiction writer before. Yeah! 

Here's a tiny preview of the introduction:

Often I feel I’ve channeled the Black Mountain Stories from several of my eccentric relatives from long ago. I was born in Georgia and raised everywhere but Georgia until I was ten years old. That’s when my mother brought my brother and me back to live with my grandmother. It was then I began to absorb both wonderful and eerie tales told by my extended family. One of the first stories I heard upon arrival at my grandmother’s home was about a fighter pilot—an air force base was nearby—had crashed into the house down the street. The eighty-year old home was owned by two old maid sisters: one who had spent her life in a wheelchair and the other looking after her. The whole street ran to watch the fire. Some claim to have seen the pilot in the front seat of the jet trying to get out. Others claim to have heard one of the sisters screaming. The only survivor was the sister in the wheelchair. 

Ann