It’s Friday. It’s November 13th – Friday the 13th (to be exact). The kids are in bed. The wife’s Book Club is at my house. I’m around the corner in a coffee shop. My laptop is open and I’m the twelfth person here doing that very same thing (I cannot actually confirm that anyone else is here while a Book Club takes place in their living rooms at home, but they are here, drinking coffee, and plugging away on their laptops). There’s a group of teens hanging out, together, but all laptopping it. There’s a couple sitting at a table, together, both laptopping. All the other laptoppers are singles. And none of them picked my awesome spot near a power outlet.
Why there isn’t a power outlet by the two chairs adjacent to the fireplace, I’ll never know? That’s where I want to be.
I’m here because I’m woefully behind in my writing. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? I have a list of things to write …this blog entry (almost done). A blog entry for a new client. I’m embarrassingly behind in my Mel Robbins blogging, and I hardly write anything new (or good) for spunkybean. It’s 9:30 EST and I’m going to wrap this up, quick, and hope to get to those other 4 things.
Funny thing about a hobby that you turn into a passion, and then you one day start to daydream could actually turn into a career …the minute you involve other people, those people start caring about what you do and depending on you to do those things. I’ll admit, I spent a good portion of my life teaching myself to ignore the guilt of dropping-the-ball, failing to follow-through, inventing excuses, and completely wimping out and ending something for, really, no good reason.
This is some cheery stuff, eh? The point is, I’m looking to shed those bad habits and power through all of this. Like Nike said – just do it. So, here goes. When next I blog at you, I should have a buncha wonderful links to all sorts of things I’ve written, and for the half-dozen of you who hang on my every word, you’ll be happy.
Speaking of happy (sarcasm), I debuted the first chapter of my theoretical novel to my writing club and …ahem …let’s just say I have a little more empathy for what The Elephant Man must’ve gone through. My story followed a beautiful short story about an old Polish woman, the daughter of immigrants, who learned many years ago she loved to write letters. The story was her making sure that, upon her death, all the letters she’d written for her children and grandchildren be delivered as directed. She didn’t have much, but she hoped her thoughts and stories would live on through her letters and her lineage. It was very, very good. Another offering was by a woman who survived breast cancer and found Jesus. The story told of an old woman who failed her entire life to say what was on her mind and how she would use every remaining breath to right that shortcoming, spread the word of Jesus, and make sure everyone she loved could know exactly how much she loved them – she found her voice and she was going to sing from the mountaintops. Another story was about 5 mechanics from World War II.
Mine was a profanity filled first chapter featuring two kids talking like adults about their crappy future-lives, and a talking tree. Which stinks, because the rest of my novel, in theory, is much more focused and will hold my eulogies, toasts, and motivational essays as a story. And I think it could be really good.
You have no idea how profusely I was sweating as the Jesus-woman-cancer-survivor had to read “mother fucker” and “son of a bitch” out loud to the group.
Perhaps I’ll toil away in anonymity for a while.
OK. I’m off to blog elsewhere. Wish me luck.
