When Life Intrudes
Wherein I whine and whine and whine…
In other words, think about leaving now
This week has been a huge circle jerk so far. My Maryland house goes to settlement today - finally!! Stupid real estate market slowdown just about killed my I’m-not-working-as-a-lawyer happiness. Then, in an everything-happens-at-one-time moment, yesterday was the date by which the State of California insisted I finalize my car registration. To do that I needed some paperwork from the good Acura people since some moron in the Maryland MVA incorrectly noted my VIN in the system a few years back, making my leased Acura show up as something else. It’s amazing, but all those letters and numbers really do mean something. And, no, the paperwork did not arrive, so back to the California DMV I went - again - to ask for an extension and will need to head back one final time if and when the Acura people get off their butts and send the paperwork. Really, who doesn’t love going back and forth and waiting in line to undergo the paperwork equivalent of a root canal?
With all that crap - yes, I said crap - going on, I decided it was a good time to jump over to Dear Author and engage in a chit chat. Damn that Jane! How am I supposed to lurk when she asks questions like, “why are all you authors lurking and not speaking up?” My answer was simple: a mixture of laziness, a lack of time and a great deal of fear about being misconstrued or taken out of context. But, in good news, Jane said I was welcome to come play on her turf whenever I wanted. Okay, she said “piss in her pool” because I so eloquently used that phrase to make some point that, at this moment eludes me, but the bottom line is that I have an open invitation from Jane.
And, yeah, I need to be writing books and stuff. Didn’t get to do that so far this week either. This stupid grown-up stuff is a pain. Makes me wonder how I got any writing (or anything else) done when I worked full-time outside the house.
March 1st, 2007 at 7:34 am
You need to give up the real world and just living in the writing blogging world. Do I expect too much from authors? Probably. I expect them to make me laugh, cry, and shout for joy every 6 months or so while still communicating to their readers and dressing like barbara cartland with the feather boa. I think that with every first publication, the editor should send a feather boa along with the finished copies. I mean, are you really a romance author without a feather boa?
March 1st, 2007 at 8:20 am
Hi, HelenKay–
With regards to the writing–you–like me–are suffering from “the less I have to do, the less I get done” syndrome, which is the opposite of “the more I have to do, the more productive I am” syndrome. This happens when there’s no looming deadline (by looming I mean less than a month.)
Don’t worry. Any second now, a phone call, e-mail, or FedEx package will come demanding something IMMEDIATELY from you, and, with even MORE stuff to get done, your productive gene will kick into overdrive, and order will be restored to the universe.
Counterintuitive, I know, but there you have it.
Ann (who knows that her own e-mail, FedEx or phone call is on its way)
March 1st, 2007 at 9:57 am
I don’t need a feather boa. I just need wine. And bon bons.
You think I’m kidding…
March 1st, 2007 at 10:33 am
Jane is right. The feather boa should be mandatory. Who can I complain to about that?
Larissa, the boa goes so well with bon bons and wine. You can’t skip the feathers. But, when you get that boa, I’m going to need to see a photo of you in it…
Ann - You’re exactly right! That is the disease under which I’m laboring. I never knew I worked better at 310 mph, but I do. Can’t get anything done when I have all this extra time on my hands. Grrrr.
March 1st, 2007 at 7:52 pm
Crap. Did you actually say the word crap? Look, I’m sorry but that kind of language is just a liittle too much.
March 1st, 2007 at 10:27 pm
I have a feather boa. It’s pink, and I bought it at the Dollar Tree.
I really want to add those big, black fake eyelashes, too, but since I can’t even use a mascara wand without blinding myself in at least one eye, I’m reluctant to attempt it.
Some romance writer I am, huh?