Normally when life hands me lemons, I make cocktails, but today I’m dangerously low on Grey Goose.
As you know, I am now agented and have entered a new stage along this fantabulous soul-sucking journey to publication. Which means I get to say annoying things that begin with “omg, my agent said…” Blah, blah, blah. I know. I’m supposed to be over the moon! And I AM. But Murphy is being a big old pain in the ass lately. He’s like pulled up a chair in my writing space and is looking over my shoulder saying, “shouldn’t you have a comma before the word WHICH?”
“Well YES Murphy, I SHOULD! But I don’t remember asking you!!”
First I want to say that I *realize* I just posted about The Secret and the miraculous power of positive thinking, and I GET IT that if my life is rounding an icy corner on two bald tires right now, I fricking asked for it somehow. But that doesn’t stop me from needing to bitch loudly once in a while.
Witness the work of Murphy in the past three weeks since I signed my agent/author agreement. I now have a list of suggested and not at all unwelcome rewrites and more than enough motivation to accomplish said task. However I also have:
1) one missing contact lens,
2) two broken laptops,
3) three cats that can’t seem to stop meowing to go outside, then inside, then outside, then inside because it is BEAUTIFUL and COLD as shit out there, and
4) a four day weekend that is quickly disappearing amidst a pile of beds that desperately need changing and kids that are now home from Grandma’s house.
I think “they” (those daily affirmation people) call this an “upper limit” problem (or something). And I must tackle it with resolve to not throw my hands up and quit because it is clearly futile. No. If I want to grow to the next level – create a boundless NEW upper level that is LIMITLESS – I must tell Murphy to suck an egg! I must rotate the laundry in the basement and breathlessly climb three flights of stairs up to the attic and shut the door behind me. I must sally forth and type my manuscript up in the attic on the laptop that my genius computer friend heroically rescued from a disk error that really should have been fatal. I must squint one-eyed at the screen, and play Pandora loudly so that meowing kitties and children that are losing Wii ping-pong games can not be heard. I must write… because there is a book contract coming up that has my name on it – and that bastard Murphy will NOT be named in the acknowledgements.
