The Problem With Eating...

Is that you have to make the food. Seriously now, it's a sad sad fact that hunger is not at all considerate. Least of all to me, who has no ability to properly feed myself. When I ponder a meal, my sisters immediately say things like, "But that has too many carbs!" or the other, more thrilling selection, "But that's an unbalanced meal!" As if they made CSI episodes based purely on surly Las Vegas mothers who serve pasta and veggies with no meat. I'm awaiting the upcoming CSI: Emeril--When good food is a damn shame...

So, anywhere, here I sit, realizing that the stomach with no warning system is ordering a large order of...something, and there is literally nothing of any interest in my fridge. Even if there were, I'd have no idea how to combine it with anything else. I write, dammit, they should have automatic delivery for that kind of thing.

I know most people get hungry and want a specific thing. Most people make good use of the phrase, "You know what would be good right now?" and suggest something that would indeed be good right about now.

Not me.

My husband occasionally wants my imput on what to eat--particularly since my hyperglycemic self is the one teetering on unconsciousness--and I have no idea what to tell him. I look around desperately for inspiration. Road signs, ads, commercials...nada. But the stomach rages on and the battle between the black spots and the white spots on the edge of my vision continues. He finally says something, like "Char siubao?" and I immediately cleave on to the image and pray it'll be enough. (I buy four or eight and I'm usually fine...after a nap.)

On the one hand, this makes me extremely frustrating and pathetic. Who on earth has no flavor drive? I generally have to make decisions instead of desires. Would I like something salty? No, sweet. Sweet is good. Steer away from meat and salads. There's a bakery there. A cookie is dinner,right? No. Shoot. Start over. Last night, early dinner was a sliced apple with peanut butter on it. Then about an hour later I had ramen with veggies and quail's eggs. Excellent. Too bad it took me twenty minutes to figure out what I wanted. I should have just sliced another apple.

Which brings me to my writing--because everything cycles back to that--and I had an apple/soup day for that as well. Around 1:30 am, I finished my rough draft on my current book. I was in happy mode. Conversely, around 1:30 pm, I got a rejection in the mail from Silhouette Desire. Mind you, Desire is not where my heart was dying to go. I've been targeting Temptations for years, but I have a mad Desire streak and a series that I felt truly fit the line. Plus, I was really hoping to have a career in the US. But, such was not to be...yet.

So, while I on the one hand had myself a peanut butter apple flavored goodness, I also ended up with the soupy rejection to complete my writing day. Maybe not the best thing to go to sleep on, but in the end, I'm sure it will all make sense since it goes to the same place. In the meantime, it reminds me that finishing a book is not the end of my journey or the achievement of my goal. Getting something other than a rejection is.

So, my next duty is to slather some peanut butter on my freshly finished ms and get that puppy off to Temptation. If I end up with soup again, well, there's more apples in the barrel. One of them will be sweet enough, someday.

Deep Thought or Thinking Deep?

Believe it or not, there's a difference. A deep thought is when you have some philisophical question you must answer. Things with meaning to your life or someone elses. Thinking deep is when you are so desperate to have a deep thought, you start making stuff up.

Examples)

Deep Thought: How do I schedule time for my writing, the child care, the hubby care and the house care? Do I need more help? How do I ask for it?

Thinking Deep: If birds are so skittish...why aren't they afraid of heights?

So, as I do my morning writing warm up, I find myself pondering, is my writing deep thought or thinking deep? I mean, I make stuff up....Thinking Deep. I put a lot of effort into my writing and it's serious work that I hope to someday make a fortune and live in Tahiti off of. (Okay, so probably not, but you never know.)....I'm going to just file that under Deep Thought anyway. I imagine emotional problems for people that can actually be solved by exquisite sex...well, sex and some emotional sharing, but solved all the same...that's probably thinking deep. The emotional probs of the chars are studied, thought out and coherent to the plot...deep thinking.

Man, where is Jack Handy when you need him?

Perhaps writing category romance requires an even balance of the two. Who knows, non-fiction is probably a solid block of one or the other. I guess the important thing is that we think at all.

But why aren't birds afraid of heights?

Writing Economics

I've decided that to be true to my Blog--snort--I should do a morning warm up to my writing pages. Preferably to wake me up, so I wouldn't expect much coherence if I were you. Particularly since I'm not a person known for deep thought. I mean, let's face it, I'm no Nostradamus. Though some mornings I'm a good Nosferatu-clone. At any rate, I've gotten the child off to school with his ever so friendly super bus driver and I'm now at my writing spot, Mimi's Place, where I somehow find regular inspiration for near ten pages a visit.

It's my philosophy that sometimes you just can't buy pages at home. It's too easy to see what you COULD be doing if you were a decent mother--laundry, bills, vacuuming...sleeping. Good lord, sometimes you just want SO badly to go back to sleep. But if you're going to schlep your ugly backside out the door, hauling a half asleep kid behind you to throw them on a bus, you might as well go for the gold and take your knappy head on across the street to the diner and get something done. I stay for 2-3 hours and generally get about 10 pages done. That's a rough draft in a month and that my friends is worth paying for. Since I get endless tea and occasionally some toast or food, that runs to renting a table for about a dollar an hour. And, you can write it off as a business expense, which can't be said of making your own damn tea in your own damn kitchen and not getting a damn thing done.

Now I know some people can write just fine at home. Some people probably clean their desk and are really good about not giving into the dark side--ie: going online to play games or talk to others who should be writing but aren't because they've given in too. But I'm learning that sometimes being stern to myself means making other people make my breakfast and give it to me with a smile. Sure beats making it myself and wishing it were edible. Now if I could just find a way to turn shopping into a tax deductible, full service, progessive to my plans as a future author franchise, I might find myself liking that too. But that might be another blog.

All in all, I've decided that I'm also going to post my few writing tips here. Possibly a few book reports, when I come across the one that moves me to do more than read with glazed eyes until it's done and I'm satisfied. We'll see how it goes, Blog Fans. :) We'll see how it goes.

Writing Is For Hamsters

I truly wish I led a more...well, I don't want to say interesting life. Generally, interesting lives involves a harrowing experience or two and I don't have the energy for something like that. I guess I just wish I did things worth noting. My idea of a day well spent involves remembering to eat, exercise, write, work and play with the kid. Playing with the hubby then is my reward. I work for eHarlequin.com, which is really the height of my "interest" factor. I read a lot of posts, I laugh a lot, and I try not to eat too much crap at one time. It's a good life, even if it doesn't make for the most thrilling of blogs.

As a writer of romance fiction, I've had to learn to be more circumspect about my lack of achievement. Kind of the way hamsters get to enjoy their little round running wheels that never take them anywhere. Hamsters eat and sleep all day. They are the only creatures on earth that stay fat little balls despite their unceasing and apparent joy in running. Sick little bastards. Seriously. But who am I to talk? I write. I submit. I run my nerves to little nubs until I get my rejection. Then after eating what I shouldn't for an unadvised amount of time, I do it again. And not only do I like it, I'm proud of myself for it.

Say it with me: Sick Little Bastard. Seriously.

As a curious little aside, I, too, remain a fat little ball. Think this is the universe trying to tell me something?

Which makes me think that publishing would be the equivalent of getting a hamster maze. I'll get to climb willingly into a hole which will lead on various paths that will be tight, impossible to see forward or backward, continually wondering if I should have jumped into that left turn instead of holding out for something that felt like it was heading me right. I'll climb up and slide down and have no idea which way leads home until I fall into a pile of wood chips that end up stuck to my butt and unable to take off without a serious ass-chewing.

And by God, I'll probably be pretty proud of myself when that's done too.

Worse, I'll go diving back into that tight little hole like it's lined with honey and do it all over again.

Go ahead. You can say it: Sick Little Bastard. Seriously.

But hey, it's fulfilling. Guess the hamsters think so too.