It is Wednesday, y’all, and that means NO ARGUING WITH ASSCLOWNS ON THE INTERNET.

You heard it here first. If you’re in, send me an e-mail or leave a note in comments and I’ll add you. (Still working on NAWACOTID site. It will be up… at some point.)

Smooches,

WM

Do you think I should run for Mayor?

I do.

I’m eating handfuls of Hershey Kisses, as I am wont to do, and I stop to read the little labels, because I’ve suddenly noticed that they don’t say (as they should) Hershey Kiss. Instead, they say:

Oops

I miss you!

We should go out!

I hate Mondays

and…

I (Heart) Satan.

(Not really, on that last one, but that’s what I expected.)

…am still writing fiction. Who knew I could finish chapter after chapter? How many chapters should it have? Twenty-four? Twenty-seven? How long do you like your novels to be? I like mine around 275 pages. What is the word count on 275 pages? One hundred thousand? I think that’s around what I have. This is better than knitting. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life, Internets.

Truly though, what I’m doing is cleaning up and revising chapters I wrote ages ago. Some I have no idea when or where. I’ve come across a few new characters — characters I made up and do not remember at all, mind you — and it’s kinda fun — like meeting someone for the first time. Maybe those were some 4 a.m. creations? No idea.

I got through three drafts of this novel, tore it to shreds to start a fourth draft, then flung it across the room. (Not really — but I did click “save” on the file and didn’t re-open it.)

Leave me a note, would ya? I want to know what everyone’s up to out there. It’s storming like mad here. We’ve had an unusual amount of rain and wind here in the Pacific Northwest. And wish my mother-in-law luck — she’s flying back to Denver tomorrow.

WM

“A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us.”

— W.H. Auden, poet (1907-1973)

Just learned of this event, from alert reader Anne…

Radical Book Fair
Sunday December 2nd
11 a.m. – 5 p.m.
Liberty Hall
311 N. Ivy (just North of Fremont and Williams)

Sponsored by Portland IWW (International Workers of the World) and Glaberman Library
Rumor has it that there will be a puppet show at 3 p.m.
Childcare available.

I have lots of little quirks, when it comes to writing fiction. (My family, in the background, “HA. HA. Ha!”)

Blog posts are a whole different animal — they strike when they strike. It doesn’t matter if a cat is on my desk, drinking my coffee, or if he’s yowling out the window at birds (that would be Wacky Cat 3). The kids can be fighting and wrestling at my feet, I can be talking with my Mom, Zip or the insurance company on the phone, it does not matter. Have blog, will post.

But when I’m writing fiction, I have to do things in a certain order.

* First, I have to vacuum and dust my entire office. (Done. This is why it’s awesome to have several days in a row to write.)

* All clutter and paperwork have to be out of my sight.

* I have to eat really simple food — sandwiches, a bowl of soup, pieces of fruit, an entire bag of Hershey kisses — because this is not cooking time, this is writing time.

* I keep a jug of water and a glass next to me, so I don’t have to leave my office. (I love my office, I mean it. Three windows, a glass door to the backyard, so I can keep an eye on the kids when they’re playing. Why am I moving? Can I keep the office?)

* I cannot pay bills, fold laundry, any of that, or else I’m derailed.

* I have to have a cup of tea. Preferably English breakfast with three splashes of milk. Or an entire pot of coffee. (Will settle today for my alloted cup.)

* The phone cannot ring. If it does, I tell whoever it is (unless it’s an agent or editor, or another writer who is looking for excuses not to write — sometimes I will play, other times I won’t) “Gotta go, writing.” Then I hang up. They’re all used to this. At least, I hope no one’s feelings get hurt. I have become my grandmother — dad’s mom. She was queen of saying, “OK, then.” (click.)

* I have to have some music on, but it has to be just the right music, at the right level. Not too quiet, not too loud.

* Blog posts have to be wrapped up tight.

Gotta go, writing.

happy Saturday, y’all.

Nancy