life / writer / writing

three effing days- Gone

Totally blew off three days of writable time. ARGH! I honestly don’t know what goes on in my brain sometimes. 3 perfectly open , nothing-to-do-but -sit -around-and-wait- for-my-chair-hoist-to-be-fixed days and I wrote nuthin. Disgusting is what it is. I should be shot. Or something.

At least I didn’t break my diet.  MIght have been because I couldn’t make it to the grocery to get anything but I’m taking it as a show of will power anyway.

Problem is, I’ve got this itch to write on my new idea …only I can’t because the idea is for The 3 day novel contest which doesn’t start until labor day weekend. Can’t start now. That would be cheating. I’ve tried to come up with another idea to screw around with until the appointed contest start time, but I keep coming back to the idea I’m not supposed to write about. It’s a vicious circle mind-jerk.

I slept in late. That was an accomplishment. I don’t usually do that and it felt very decadent. I did try a couple of new recipes (with the limited resources I had to work with) and do a little online my veranda, AKA back yardshopping. Bad for the pocketbook, good for the soul. New pair of jeans , come to MAMA!   I also sat out back on my newly fixed-up little patio (see pic – and yes, it is my own little chunk of concrete heaven in the God-Forsaken state of Ohio…yuck), surrounded by my fresh herbs and tomatoes. Watched the  bugs and butterflies lazily drift from leave to leaf in my container garden oasis.  Drank a pitcher full of iced tea and pretended I was on a veranda overlooking a gracious old southern estate. Minus the spanish moss, which freaks me out.  Now that I could get used to.  The illusion lasted until the screaming brats…I mean little darling children next door came home.  Nothing like a 6 and 7 year old battling over who gets to kill the frog they happen to find to wipeout an otherwise lovely day.

Then… Chelsea Cain’s new book arrived at my door step via the smiling UPS lady. God Bless her Bones.  the UPS lady, I mean.  Well, come to thinkof it, that goes for Chelsea Cain too.  So I read. Finished the damn thing in an afternoon and part of the evening. Till 1:30 am, but who’s counting.  I highly reccommend it to get your heart racing and magnify all the shadows in your home to resemble possible sculking killers waiting for the right moment to attack. “Let Me Go”, the latest installment  of the Archie Sheridan/Gretchen Lowell murder series. WOW. Ms. Cain can fucking write. I mean REALLY write. Scary, on the edge of your seat kind of writing. I haven’t missed one in this series yet and I’ve never been disappointed. She writes the kind of twisted shit about  wonderfiully devious and cruel serial killers that I love to read and write about. Only her stories are PERFECTION!  The only bad thing is now I have to wait till she writes another one. 

She’s  on my “people I’d like to have a dinner and copious amounts of alcohol with before I die” list.  Stephen King’s on the list too.  In fact, he’s numero uno!  The big cheese!  Since reading “Carrie” I have wanted to break bread and knock back a few with him.  I mean the man’s a genius.  A grade number one choice genius.   At least I think so and I’m the only one who matters when it comes to the list.

 Johnny Depp, Craig Ferguson and Patrick Stewart round out the top five.  I know.  No rhyme or reason, but like I said.  It’s my friggin list! 

Don’t like it?  Tough potato chips!

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