Update: editing hasn't kill me. Yet.
Neither has packing, although there was that time with the boxes of books that almost ended poorly.
Honestly, these update posts make me self conscious because I know I'm editing at the speed of a glacier. Most of my writer friends have started and finished their edits. Writers all over the blogosphere announce how happy they are to be done editing.
And still, I am revising. I'm not even done with the macro stuff yet.
I worry there's something wrong with me. That maybe I just suck, and can't edit my way out of a paper bag, and that's just it for me. But then I kick some sense into myself, and realize it's not really me, it's the book at this point. Because sweet magnolia cupcakes, this book has a lot of things wrong with it. My rough drafts are messy to begin with, but this baby was written in ten months, starting when my son was five months old and I was carving out fifteen minutes during nap time to write a few sentences. I suppose it's no wonder there's some serious issues such as structure, tone, and voice, all the way down to the minor stuff like how I fell in love with the word "just".
Or how I need to replot the entire thing. And kill some characters. And fix the plot holes. You know, the basics.
It's been very discouraging, because I feel like I'm taking too long. That I should be done now. It doesn't matter I only have about two hours a day, less lately since the son has decided to wake up between the hour and hour and a half mark from his nap. I've taken to staying up late a few nights to get some more time in. That lasts for a few days, and then I crash.
Lately, the moving thing, the whole let's go through our entire house worth of stuff and get rid of 50% of it so we can afford to move to Puerto Rico has cut into the writing time as well. My husband reports to work the first week of September, and now that our original plans of him staying in a friend's place for a month have changed, he has to get a place to stay a week after getting there (and staying in a hotel in the meantime). We're shipping our stuff over there a month earlier than expected.
So yeah, there's other stuff going on. But I still need to make time for writing, I still need to keep progressing even when that evil voice tells me I should just start all the way over. Again.
Because, here's the thing folks. Revision doesn't just teach you how to fix THIS book. I mean, yes, that's what you're doing when you revise. You're making the words not suck. But ideally, while you're revising, you're getting better at writing, so when the time comes to start a new rough draft, you're not making the same mistakes over and over again.
To do that, and to revise properly, you have to figure out what you did wrong the first time, and how to fix that.
As easy as it sounds, it can be very hard. Very mentally taxing. I find drafting emotionally draining (or rejuvenating, depending on the scene in question), but revision is mentally taxing. You're picturing the book in it's entirety and thinking about what happens if you shift this scene forward. Or you're just focusing on one scene, and reading through each line for the moment where the pacing slacks off. Either way, it makes my already tired brain tired.
So that's where I'm at, folks. I'm still editing, still toiling away. I'm making a lot of progress, don't get me wrong. I can see how each day of editing is moving me forward, and as soon as I figure out the new plot order, I can start the scene by scene stuff. But it still feels like it's taking forever and I should be done by now and I'm doomed and omg I'm just going to eat some chocolate and hide from the world.
Then I remind myself it's taken other authors years to finish their edits, if we're going to play the compare yourself to others game, and then I don't feel so bad.
So, sound off people. Where are you at in your writing? What do you do when it feels like it's taking too long?
Showing posts with label probably TMI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label probably TMI. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Friday, July 6, 2012
The Cost Of Kindness
Warning: Angry rant ahoy!
Over a week ago on Monday (not this past Monday, but the Monday before) my husband and I noticed that once again, our apartment's AC was not keeping up with the Georgia summer heat. Last summer our AC was always a few degrees higher than we had it set. It was set at 71, the house was regularly 76 or 77. But after a week or so, the temperature dropped enough outside that it wasn't an issue.
This year it was already having a hard time keeping up, and the hottest part of the summer wasn't even upon us. Plus, we have a four month old. So we called the maintenance people and were promptly ignored. Wednesday we called them again and they sent someone out. They changed the air filters and charged the freon, and sent a guy out to check on us in the morning. We tried to explain that the AC did the same thing last year, but they were sure it was just the air filters. It was 77 degrees in the house.
Thursday morning, someone stops by and checks our unit and says it's fine: it's blowing cold air. We explained that wasn't the issue. Our unit would blow cold air until Judgement Day, but never cool the apartment down enough to make it livable. Plus, over the weekend it was supposed to be over a hundred degrees outside. He said was just hot and we'd have to deal with it.
Friday we stop by the leasing office to talk to the property manager. We explained the issue. We explained that we weren't just being whiny about the AC being off a few degrees; it had reached 80 degrees in the house last night. We have a four month old. Their nervous systems are immature. It takes a baby a lot longer to warm up or cool down than it does an adult. Plus, he's got eczema, and the heat was just making it worse. If your AC is set at 71, and it reaches 82, and doesn't cool off until 3 in the morning, something is wrong.
The manager said she understood. She would have the maintenance men put the portable AC unit in our apartment tomorrow, and have them check out our AC unit again. We went back to the apartment, and by 5 it was already 80 degrees. I decided to take the baby over to my parent's house where the AC lives until Saturday.
Saturday arrives, and they hadn't brought the portable unit before my husband left for work (1 in the afternoon). I try to give them some more time. My parents live one town over, and I didn't want to drive there and back just to have them say the unit was on it's way. I'd called the office a few times, but no one ever called me back. I went back to the apartment around 4 in the afternoon and still nothing. It was 84 degrees in the apartment and 105 outside. I called the maintenance man again, and left. I spent the night at my parent's house again.
Sunday the office is closed so we knew nothing was going to happen. We called the maintenance man anyway. He'd said he went out there Saturday, and no one was home (*eyebrow twitch*), but he checked and the AC was blowing cold air (*tiny stroke*).
By this time, I was furious. FURIOUS. I live in the South, people. I know complaining about the AC seems like a petty, First World problem when people are starving all over the world, but again, this is the South. It's HOT outside. VERY hot. It was 105 on Saturday, and 103 on Sunday, and 99 on Monday. It's still in the high 90's this week, and will be until the end of August. We had a record breaking heat wave this weekend and our AC wasn't working. The inside of the apartment (top floor, by the way) was like an oven.
I consider myself a nice person. There's a lot of people that before now would have been up at that front office, screaming at the nearest warm body. But that's not me. I don't think screaming at people solves anything. Usually the person you're yelling at simply nods and smiles, and just ignores what you're saying. It's not productive. I try to realize that everyone has their own problems and that I am not, in fact, the center of the universe.
I was pissed we were being ignored, and I was pissed that they had me backed into a corner. Being nice and understanding that they probably had lots of calls about AC that weekend wasn't doing anything but getting us walked all over, and I hate it. I hate that some people refuse to respond unless you're pissed off and complaining. They never called us back when they said they would, and they didn't follow through with a single thing. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew I would have to go up there, and I knew I would have to be firm. I HATE confrontation. I HATE. I would so much rather sit down and discuss things like the rationale human beings we are then have to complain and be mean.
Which brings us to this past Monday. I drove up to the apartment, and my husband got up early (he had to work that evening) and we went over to the leasing office, once again. We had written a letter, complete with photo evidence, about our complaints. We walked in, and calmly yet firmly explained what was happening and why it was not acceptable. The apartment manager made some sympathetic noises. You might think I am exaggerating because I am ticked off, but I swear you could see her eyes glaze over the minute we started talking.
She explained that the second unit was being used in another apartment whose AC was completely not working, and that the maintenance people would be looking at our unit today. It would have been REALLY nice to know this on Saturday. The maintenance supervisor came in and explained they would probably have to replace the unit, but in the mean time they would bring us the portable unit they had just ordered. Apparently the apartment complex only had one, and couldn't be bothered to drive to Lowe's, or Home Depot where they are easy to buy and even ON SALE.
You might be wondering why we didn't buy one ourselves. Well, we thought about it, but when we spoke to the property manager on Friday she said that wasn't necessary, and frankly, we don't have the extra couple hundred dollars to spend on one right now. We weren't 100% sure they would reimburse us if we sprang for one, since the manager said they would provide us with one.
Later on in the afternoon they brought the portable unit by and I was able to FINALLY sleep in my own bed.
Here's where it gets fun. Tuesday morning the maintenance man comes by and takes out our old crappy unit, because I assumed (my bad) that the new unit had come in. The afternoon goes by and they bring us the second portable unit, explaining that the new unit hadn't come in yet.
Of course, Wednesday was the Fourth of July so nothing got done, and yesterday they didn't call or bring by our new unit.
So once again, today I get to call them and ask where our new unit is, because guess what? It was 84 degrees in the house last night because just the two portable AC units couldn't keep up. Plus, they tripped the circuit breaker a few times.
I hate this so much. I hate being so very angry, I hate feeling like a bad person because I just want to march up there and scream at them for ignoring us, for patronizing us. We're good tenants. We don't complain. We clean up after ourselves. Our rent is always paid on time. Yet, this means nothing. Sometimes the squeaky wheel IS the one that gets the most grease, and I think that's wrong. That just sets up the next time the person has a problem they'll think the only way to solve it is to get pissed off. I've worked in retail and customer service my entire life. It's not fun to have someone yell at you over something you can't control.
But being ignored, being patronized and walked all over just because I haven't screamed at them just is just...wrong.
Needless to say, we will not be renewing our lease.
Over a week ago on Monday (not this past Monday, but the Monday before) my husband and I noticed that once again, our apartment's AC was not keeping up with the Georgia summer heat. Last summer our AC was always a few degrees higher than we had it set. It was set at 71, the house was regularly 76 or 77. But after a week or so, the temperature dropped enough outside that it wasn't an issue.
This year it was already having a hard time keeping up, and the hottest part of the summer wasn't even upon us. Plus, we have a four month old. So we called the maintenance people and were promptly ignored. Wednesday we called them again and they sent someone out. They changed the air filters and charged the freon, and sent a guy out to check on us in the morning. We tried to explain that the AC did the same thing last year, but they were sure it was just the air filters. It was 77 degrees in the house.
Thursday morning, someone stops by and checks our unit and says it's fine: it's blowing cold air. We explained that wasn't the issue. Our unit would blow cold air until Judgement Day, but never cool the apartment down enough to make it livable. Plus, over the weekend it was supposed to be over a hundred degrees outside. He said was just hot and we'd have to deal with it.
Friday we stop by the leasing office to talk to the property manager. We explained the issue. We explained that we weren't just being whiny about the AC being off a few degrees; it had reached 80 degrees in the house last night. We have a four month old. Their nervous systems are immature. It takes a baby a lot longer to warm up or cool down than it does an adult. Plus, he's got eczema, and the heat was just making it worse. If your AC is set at 71, and it reaches 82, and doesn't cool off until 3 in the morning, something is wrong.
The manager said she understood. She would have the maintenance men put the portable AC unit in our apartment tomorrow, and have them check out our AC unit again. We went back to the apartment, and by 5 it was already 80 degrees. I decided to take the baby over to my parent's house where the AC lives until Saturday.
Saturday arrives, and they hadn't brought the portable unit before my husband left for work (1 in the afternoon). I try to give them some more time. My parents live one town over, and I didn't want to drive there and back just to have them say the unit was on it's way. I'd called the office a few times, but no one ever called me back. I went back to the apartment around 4 in the afternoon and still nothing. It was 84 degrees in the apartment and 105 outside. I called the maintenance man again, and left. I spent the night at my parent's house again.
Sunday the office is closed so we knew nothing was going to happen. We called the maintenance man anyway. He'd said he went out there Saturday, and no one was home (*eyebrow twitch*), but he checked and the AC was blowing cold air (*tiny stroke*).
By this time, I was furious. FURIOUS. I live in the South, people. I know complaining about the AC seems like a petty, First World problem when people are starving all over the world, but again, this is the South. It's HOT outside. VERY hot. It was 105 on Saturday, and 103 on Sunday, and 99 on Monday. It's still in the high 90's this week, and will be until the end of August. We had a record breaking heat wave this weekend and our AC wasn't working. The inside of the apartment (top floor, by the way) was like an oven.
I consider myself a nice person. There's a lot of people that before now would have been up at that front office, screaming at the nearest warm body. But that's not me. I don't think screaming at people solves anything. Usually the person you're yelling at simply nods and smiles, and just ignores what you're saying. It's not productive. I try to realize that everyone has their own problems and that I am not, in fact, the center of the universe.
I was pissed we were being ignored, and I was pissed that they had me backed into a corner. Being nice and understanding that they probably had lots of calls about AC that weekend wasn't doing anything but getting us walked all over, and I hate it. I hate that some people refuse to respond unless you're pissed off and complaining. They never called us back when they said they would, and they didn't follow through with a single thing. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew I would have to go up there, and I knew I would have to be firm. I HATE confrontation. I HATE. I would so much rather sit down and discuss things like the rationale human beings we are then have to complain and be mean.
Which brings us to this past Monday. I drove up to the apartment, and my husband got up early (he had to work that evening) and we went over to the leasing office, once again. We had written a letter, complete with photo evidence, about our complaints. We walked in, and calmly yet firmly explained what was happening and why it was not acceptable. The apartment manager made some sympathetic noises. You might think I am exaggerating because I am ticked off, but I swear you could see her eyes glaze over the minute we started talking.
She explained that the second unit was being used in another apartment whose AC was completely not working, and that the maintenance people would be looking at our unit today. It would have been REALLY nice to know this on Saturday. The maintenance supervisor came in and explained they would probably have to replace the unit, but in the mean time they would bring us the portable unit they had just ordered. Apparently the apartment complex only had one, and couldn't be bothered to drive to Lowe's, or Home Depot where they are easy to buy and even ON SALE.
You might be wondering why we didn't buy one ourselves. Well, we thought about it, but when we spoke to the property manager on Friday she said that wasn't necessary, and frankly, we don't have the extra couple hundred dollars to spend on one right now. We weren't 100% sure they would reimburse us if we sprang for one, since the manager said they would provide us with one.
Later on in the afternoon they brought the portable unit by and I was able to FINALLY sleep in my own bed.
Here's where it gets fun. Tuesday morning the maintenance man comes by and takes out our old crappy unit, because I assumed (my bad) that the new unit had come in. The afternoon goes by and they bring us the second portable unit, explaining that the new unit hadn't come in yet.
Of course, Wednesday was the Fourth of July so nothing got done, and yesterday they didn't call or bring by our new unit.
So once again, today I get to call them and ask where our new unit is, because guess what? It was 84 degrees in the house last night because just the two portable AC units couldn't keep up. Plus, they tripped the circuit breaker a few times.
I hate this so much. I hate being so very angry, I hate feeling like a bad person because I just want to march up there and scream at them for ignoring us, for patronizing us. We're good tenants. We don't complain. We clean up after ourselves. Our rent is always paid on time. Yet, this means nothing. Sometimes the squeaky wheel IS the one that gets the most grease, and I think that's wrong. That just sets up the next time the person has a problem they'll think the only way to solve it is to get pissed off. I've worked in retail and customer service my entire life. It's not fun to have someone yell at you over something you can't control.
But being ignored, being patronized and walked all over just because I haven't screamed at them just is just...wrong.
Needless to say, we will not be renewing our lease.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Coming Soon to A Blog Near You!
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| Image: farconville / FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
No? Well, check out the link. I'll wait.
...
Back? Okay. So guess what tomorrow is (not just Saturday, smart alecks)? If you guessed Saint Patrick's Day, you get to have a cookie.
Tomorrow I will be once more returning to my familial abode, this time armed with my newborn progeny. Pictures will be taken, corned beef will be eaten, and since Nana has already bought the baby his Saint Patrick's Day shirt (are you starting to see how crazy we take this holiday?) no babies will be pinched.
My husband sadly must work tomorrow, so it will just be Connor and I. Once again I will use my intrepid journalism skills to bring you an inside look my family's particular way of celebrating a holiday that most people use as an excuse to get drunk. It will be like the Jersey Shore, only with Irish people and no spray tans. And pictures, instead of only heaven knows how many TV seasons the JS has. And best of all, no Snooki.
Will anyone commit the ultimate faux pas and forget to wear green? How many outfits will the baby spit up on? Will Mom remember to add the soda to the bread this year?
Check back here on Monday to find out!
*Allow me to address the elephant in the living room. That awesome picture at the beginning of this post? Yeah. I was going for something generic and family friendly in Free Digital Picture's Saint Patrick's Day section.But then! But then! I found that gem. I couldn't not use the picture once I saw it. I don't know what I like the best. The Saint Patrick's Day stripper outfit? The obviously photo-shopped body? His pose that seems to say "I have no idea what arms are for"?
Or the fact that there are MORE where this photo came from? As in, someone thought it was a good idea to do several poses of the soulless Saint Patrick's Day stripper (how's THAT for alliteration?).
One such pose looking like he is sliding into home base, simultaneously combing two favorite American pastimes: baseball and sex.
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| Home run! Image: farconville / FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Flexibility Matters
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| I smile because I am holding my son. Also? IV pain meds. |
I was supposed to be induced for labor on Thursday, February 23rd. I was. I spent the entire day in labor, walking back and forth between a 3 foot space. I was hooked up to an IV with pictocin and minerals in one arm, and a fetal heartbeat monitor and a monitor for my contractions around my stomach. But I walked within the space I had, because it would help me dilate.
Around six that night the midwife checked me, and found I was 3 cms dilated. Hooray! So I kept walking. I would sit on occasion, but that was very uncomfortable. The contractions were getting stronger and stronger as they upped the pictocin drip. It wasn't until 2 in the morning that I realized my legs hurt too badly to walk on, that they were swollen purple. So it was time for the epidural. They broke my water and set me up on some awesome IV pain meds.
I was told to get some rest, which I would have loved to, but people were checking on me often, and I had a blood pressure cuff that went off every 30 minutes or so. I named it Eeyore because of the sad noise it made after it finished deflating. I was 5 cms by this point.
A few hours later, very early on Friday, the midwife came in to check me again. I was only 6 cms for some reason. Breaking my water should have sped up the contractions, but instead my body just plateaued out. They started talking about a c section, but said we could try taking me off the pictocin for an hour and then starting it back up again.
We tried that. It didn't work. I actually went back to 5 cms dilated. I could have waited until later on in the day to see if I would dilate further, but it was a numbers game at this point. Once they break your water, you have a high chance of infection. My body was showing no signs of dilating further, and the longer we waited, the better chance there would be that they would move me from an unscheduled c section to an emergency c section where they are worried about me and or the baby.
So I decided on the c section, and less than 10 minute later they started prepping me. They gave me this nasty tasting stuff to prevent heartburn, which I promptly threw up (I would have rather had heartburn). They put pressure garments on my legs so I wouldn't clot. They wheeled me into this large, cold OR, and upped my epidural so I couldn't feel anything from the waist down. A thin blue curtain draped across my chest separated me from the doctors. My husband sat with me, holding my hand and looking funny in the hospital gown they gave him.
I was scared and cold and nervous something would go wrong. But I was lucky. The baby came out no problem. He was perfectly healthy. And while I am still sore from the labor and operation, I am healing well.
I would have rather not be induced. And then, I would have rather not had a c section. Nothing about my son's birth went how I'd planned, except the most important part about both of us being healthy.
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| On our way to see the doctor. He sleeps blissfully unaware. |
But it's important to remember that life has other plans. Being flexibile can completely change your experience of an event. I could have gotten really upset and pissed off about how the birth of my son turned out. I could have been mad that I also have to recover from major surgery after being in labor for a day and a half while taking care of a newborn.
But why? Why get all caught up on how you wanted things to be? Why not plan for every outcome and just know that things are going to change, things are going to be different, and that's okay?
If you get too upset about the curve balls life throws you, just look at this picture. I dare you not to laugh:
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| Sausage baby! To the rescue! |
Monday, February 13, 2012
Eggplant Plans
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| This is me, yesterday, tired, sore, and huge. |
Apparently, he's decided that he's got a good thing going because I am still pregnant. I am very thankful I don't have the gestation time of a Frilled Shark, but I'm also ready to have the baby now. But that's okay he's appears to be late. I have eggplant plans.
There's a restaurant north of Atlanta that has a reputation, you see. Local legend says that pregnant women who eat their eggplant Parmigiana going into labor within two days. As a matter of fact, they have a wall of over three hundred baby pictures who were born after their mothers ate their eggplant Parmigiana. Women send in pictures and testimonials.
You could say if you wanted to spoil my fun that the women just think the eggplant had something to do with it because of the legend. They went into labor afterwards, and figured the eggplant was the cause when nature was just taking it's course. But it's not just women who are late, and therefore expecting to go into labor any minute (or second) now. Women have gone into labor a week early. Also, if you eat there on or after your due date and haven't gone into labor within two days, they comp your meal for you.
So I figure what the heck. I like eggplant Parmigiana. Let's test out the magical properties. We're planning to go on Wednesday if the baby hasn't shown up yet. I know that he's not really late-late if he hasn't arrived yet, so I wanted to give him some time.
Thursday I have a doctor's visit scheduled where they will ultrasound me to make sure that everything is still kosher for the baby. Hopefully I will be in labor by then, but it's good to have a back up plan.
So as far as plans this week, I'm having a baby. How about you?
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Hoarders: The Crazy Person Edition
Guys, I think I might have a problem.
Today while searching for a lamp base, I found another baby blanket. It's adorable. Thing is, I already have a ton of baby blankets. But there can never be enough. I have two small fleece blankets, seven small cotton blankets, three receiving blankets, and six larger fleece blankets already. In my defense I did not buy most of them. Most were presents from the baby shower or my parents and In Laws buying baby stuff because they are out of their minds with excitement (first grandchild on both sides of the family. No, he's not going to be spoiled or anything).
But that still didn't stop me from buying some when I finished out my registry, or this new blanket today. I can rationalize anything. The blanket today is necessary because it's much larger than the ones I already have, and it's warm but thin so it will be a great middle ground between the super thin blankets and the warm fleece ones. I can throw it over the stroller if I need to, and still use it when the baby gets bigger.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
It's not just baby blankets though. I hoard other random things. Books are a gimme, because what writer doesn't? But I also have a gigantic stash of office supplies. I have no less that five unopened packs of white index cards, two packs of neon colored index cards, a 24 pack of fine point Sharpies, a 24 pack of highlighters, a 24 pack of markers, a metric crapton of pens, and that's just off the top of my head. Don't even ask how many legal pads and notebooks I have.
I am not sure what exactly drives me to collect these things, other than this never ending need to have them and the ability to lie to myself and justify the necessity of the item in question. I suppose it could be worse. I could be like that cockroach house on Hoarders (Caution: do not click that link if you dislike cockroaches, have a weak stomach, or want to retain the last vestiges of your sanity). I could collect less useful things like bottle caps (no offense to those of you out there who collect bottle caps. I am sure your collection is stunning).
Surely I'm not the only person out there that has a hard time letting go of things? Or an insane need to stockpile very specific stuff? Is there anything you guys collect a ton of?
Now if you'll excuse me, while I was searching for the link to my new baby blanket, I saw some other ones on sale.
Today while searching for a lamp base, I found another baby blanket. It's adorable. Thing is, I already have a ton of baby blankets. But there can never be enough. I have two small fleece blankets, seven small cotton blankets, three receiving blankets, and six larger fleece blankets already. In my defense I did not buy most of them. Most were presents from the baby shower or my parents and In Laws buying baby stuff because they are out of their minds with excitement (first grandchild on both sides of the family. No, he's not going to be spoiled or anything).
But that still didn't stop me from buying some when I finished out my registry, or this new blanket today. I can rationalize anything. The blanket today is necessary because it's much larger than the ones I already have, and it's warm but thin so it will be a great middle ground between the super thin blankets and the warm fleece ones. I can throw it over the stroller if I need to, and still use it when the baby gets bigger.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
It's not just baby blankets though. I hoard other random things. Books are a gimme, because what writer doesn't? But I also have a gigantic stash of office supplies. I have no less that five unopened packs of white index cards, two packs of neon colored index cards, a 24 pack of fine point Sharpies, a 24 pack of highlighters, a 24 pack of markers, a metric crapton of pens, and that's just off the top of my head. Don't even ask how many legal pads and notebooks I have.
I am not sure what exactly drives me to collect these things, other than this never ending need to have them and the ability to lie to myself and justify the necessity of the item in question. I suppose it could be worse. I could be like that cockroach house on Hoarders (Caution: do not click that link if you dislike cockroaches, have a weak stomach, or want to retain the last vestiges of your sanity). I could collect less useful things like bottle caps (no offense to those of you out there who collect bottle caps. I am sure your collection is stunning).
Surely I'm not the only person out there that has a hard time letting go of things? Or an insane need to stockpile very specific stuff? Is there anything you guys collect a ton of?
Now if you'll excuse me, while I was searching for the link to my new baby blanket, I saw some other ones on sale.
Monday, January 9, 2012
In Which I Squee Like a Fangirl
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| My son, Connor. The weird thing next to his face is his arm. |
Moving on from my laziness!
Did you know that James Scott Bell came out with a new book on writing? I know! It's like a belated Christmas present! It's called "Conflict and Suspense". I have his other three books on writing, Plot and Structure, Revision and Self Editing, and the Art of War for Writers. I highly recommend all three books. My copies have tons of little scraps of paper bookmarks in them.
Ergo my agonized debate whether or not I should buy a ebook copy or a hard copy. On one hand, the ebook is a little cheaper and I would get it RIGHT NOW. Let me stress to you the importance of RIGHT NOW. I know it's bad in the digital age we don't want to wait for things, but seriously guys. James Scott Bell. New book on writing, coinciding with me revamping my writing process and analyzing what's working and what's not.
In the end, the little scraps of paper won out and I ordered a hard copy. I now have an estimated delivery date of this Wednesday, or January 17-24th. I have Amazon Prime, which is supossed to give me free two day shipping. But for some reason Amazon says this book doesn't release until the 12th of January, even though it also appears you can buy it right now (RIGHT NOW). So it's currently in limbo and I wait anxiously to see when it will arrive. I downloaded the sample chapters on my kindle, but that just left me wanting more.
While I am waiting, why don't you guys tell me what you prefer out of your reference books, ebook or hard copy? And why? Am I the only one who saw this as a huge dilemma?
Friday, May 6, 2011
How? Warning: This Post Contains Bird Poop
I have a very simple question. It shouldn't be that difficult to figure out, but my husband and I have been scratching our heads about this for a few days.
And my apologies if this is TMI or not appropriate (I did a quick search on agent blogs, but none of them have mentioned if bird poop is an acceptable blogging topic for aspiring authors) but I am not trying to be gross. I just honestly want to know.
How did bird poop end up on the side of my apartment wall? It's right between the door and the window. Here's a picture for reference:
You can see the bird's little gift to us in the middle. And before you run to the comments and tell me that all animals have to poop, let me give you some more perspective:
I am pretty sure it was the cardinals. There's two of them that like to sit on the tree outside and look smug. I mentioned how the cardinals always look smug on Twitter (Twitter...as in birds...coincidence? I think not.) and the next day...bird poop on the side of my apartment.
I don't know. Perhaps those of you with a science background can work out the right angle for me. Because at the moment, I am going with blaming the cardinals.
And yes, I cleaned it up. Who knows what that's bird-code for?
And my apologies if this is TMI or not appropriate (I did a quick search on agent blogs, but none of them have mentioned if bird poop is an acceptable blogging topic for aspiring authors) but I am not trying to be gross. I just honestly want to know.
How did bird poop end up on the side of my apartment wall? It's right between the door and the window. Here's a picture for reference:
You can see the bird's little gift to us in the middle. And before you run to the comments and tell me that all animals have to poop, let me give you some more perspective:
That's the hallway. There is several feet of walkway, a railing, and a large overhang past the balcony. My husband and I stood outside and looked around the apartment, trying to figure out the exact trajectory that would cause poop to land on the inside of our apartment balcony, against the wall.
We have no answers. What you see to the left is a large tree. It's not like a bird could fly towards that exact spot and the wind just carried it's donation the rest of the way. There's a monstrously large tree in the way. The overhang should prevent the bird's butt from getting anywhere near the railing, much less three feet inside along our wall.
I keep trying to line up the trajectory, but no line I draw through the spot in question and the outside matches up. Then again, I am not a physics major.
But still. Did the bird do a barrel roll through the hallway? There's nothing for them to perch on inside the walkway, so it didn't happen while they were hanging out. My husband's theory is during that bad windstorm/tornado watch we had a few days ago the bird got scared and the wind carried it. But I am not convinced.
Did I piss the birds off somehow? Has my apartment been marked for death? Am I in the middle of some sort of bird holy war? Is this their way of telling me I need "protection" and should donate in the form of bird seed and bread?
I don't know. Perhaps those of you with a science background can work out the right angle for me. Because at the moment, I am going with blaming the cardinals.
And yes, I cleaned it up. Who knows what that's bird-code for?
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