To hell and back!
It's been a weird couple o' days, gang.
Wednesday was exciting because I paid my water bill. I had to go all the way to city hall to do it, too. Which is, like, directly across the street from me and right next to the police precinct. I ran into one of my friends there.
He: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Paying my water bill. What are you doing here?"
He: "I had to drop off my daughter."
Me: "Where, at the jail?"
oh, ha ha ha... (she's actually on some sort of outstanding student community council type thingy; she's, like, 12.)
It was just one of those really truly beautiful fall days that makes you really happy to be alive. I was feeling really good with where the new novel was at. That is always the best feeling. And I got a royalty statement in the mail and much to my surprise, learned that I'd sold nearly 500 more copies of Lust in late 2007/early 2008, a book that's been out for 4 years already. And I got caught up to date on the latest episode of Mad Men, a show that just continues to thrill me. Went to sleep happy.
Then Thursday was the day from hell, novel-wise. One of those 12-hour stretches where all I did was fidget and stare blankly at the fucking computer and could not connect for the life of me with what was written there on the page. It was like trudging through molasses all day long. It was exhausting. maddening. depressing. discouraging. I had to keep telling myself: I will not look at porn. I will not look at porn. I will not look at porn -- like a mantra. Since looking at free Internet porn is the first thing my brain wants to do when it starts getting panicky about the novel.
I did get some cooking done, some baking done, some laundry done. But I kept going right back and sitting in front of the laptop, trying to make sense out of what I was seeing there... all I knew was that what I'd been so happy with the night before, wasn't , in the cold hard light of day, 100% totally working yet. Meanwhile, I am trying to get a finished first draft to my agent by Christmas. And each day that goes by un-productively, makes me insane. I kept screaming, Fucking - A!, to no one in particular.
By 6:30 Thursday evening, I had to leave for another screening. Had a really good time. A bunch of locally-made short subject films. But by the time it was over, my brain was mush. (Someone there said to me, "I would love to be a writer and just be able to sit at home and write all day long." Oh yeah, it's a laugh riot...)
Unfortunately, I was so exhausted that I couldn't stay for the after party even though there were people there that I really needed to talk to, and then when I was driving home, sure enough, my panic disorder kicked into high gear again. Crap. Panic disorder sucks, gang. I've suffered from it since 1999, when I was still living in NYC and trying to run 3 Internet-based businesses at the same time, with business partners who were, for the most part, making me insane most of the time. However, panic disorder sucks most hugely when it attacks you behind the wheel of your car when you are driving alone in the dark of night...
Crap, crap, crap. I was just grateful, once again, that I made it home in one piece.
But Friday was much better, gang. Friday, while rainy and colder, was another most perfect day. I sent off 9 chapters to my agent & felt okay with what she would be reading. Had a midday coffee meeting that went decently enough. Watched the rest of A Nightmare on Elm Street and loved every scary minute of it. And, I don't know, for some reason, everything was right with my world again.
Wednesday was exciting because I paid my water bill. I had to go all the way to city hall to do it, too. Which is, like, directly across the street from me and right next to the police precinct. I ran into one of my friends there.
He: "What are you doing here?"
Me: "Paying my water bill. What are you doing here?"
He: "I had to drop off my daughter."
Me: "Where, at the jail?"
oh, ha ha ha... (she's actually on some sort of outstanding student community council type thingy; she's, like, 12.)
It was just one of those really truly beautiful fall days that makes you really happy to be alive. I was feeling really good with where the new novel was at. That is always the best feeling. And I got a royalty statement in the mail and much to my surprise, learned that I'd sold nearly 500 more copies of Lust in late 2007/early 2008, a book that's been out for 4 years already. And I got caught up to date on the latest episode of Mad Men, a show that just continues to thrill me. Went to sleep happy.
Then Thursday was the day from hell, novel-wise. One of those 12-hour stretches where all I did was fidget and stare blankly at the fucking computer and could not connect for the life of me with what was written there on the page. It was like trudging through molasses all day long. It was exhausting. maddening. depressing. discouraging. I had to keep telling myself: I will not look at porn. I will not look at porn. I will not look at porn -- like a mantra. Since looking at free Internet porn is the first thing my brain wants to do when it starts getting panicky about the novel.
I did get some cooking done, some baking done, some laundry done. But I kept going right back and sitting in front of the laptop, trying to make sense out of what I was seeing there... all I knew was that what I'd been so happy with the night before, wasn't , in the cold hard light of day, 100% totally working yet. Meanwhile, I am trying to get a finished first draft to my agent by Christmas. And each day that goes by un-productively, makes me insane. I kept screaming, Fucking - A!, to no one in particular.
By 6:30 Thursday evening, I had to leave for another screening. Had a really good time. A bunch of locally-made short subject films. But by the time it was over, my brain was mush. (Someone there said to me, "I would love to be a writer and just be able to sit at home and write all day long." Oh yeah, it's a laugh riot...)
Unfortunately, I was so exhausted that I couldn't stay for the after party even though there were people there that I really needed to talk to, and then when I was driving home, sure enough, my panic disorder kicked into high gear again. Crap. Panic disorder sucks, gang. I've suffered from it since 1999, when I was still living in NYC and trying to run 3 Internet-based businesses at the same time, with business partners who were, for the most part, making me insane most of the time. However, panic disorder sucks most hugely when it attacks you behind the wheel of your car when you are driving alone in the dark of night...
Crap, crap, crap. I was just grateful, once again, that I made it home in one piece.
But Friday was much better, gang. Friday, while rainy and colder, was another most perfect day. I sent off 9 chapters to my agent & felt okay with what she would be reading. Had a midday coffee meeting that went decently enough. Watched the rest of A Nightmare on Elm Street and loved every scary minute of it. And, I don't know, for some reason, everything was right with my world again.
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