Thursday, April 21, 2016

All my blood is heroin. . .or cookies

I'm writing.

Really, I am.

I'm mostly writing paid words, but I'm also writing fiction words. And I'm probably going to miss the "write a novel this month deadline" by two or four weeks. But deadlines have always been my frenemy, and it's about the war, not the battle, people.

And a war is definitely waging over here. As soon as I announced my grand intentions, the universe was all over it. We had a two-day power outage. I was scheduled to take a car full of youth to a weekend retreat, and everything went wrong the day before (though the retreat itself was lovely and awesome and inspiring, and I'll write about that another time).

The monsters of finance and mortgage are stalking me ever closer, and I'm writing my fingers to the bone to help our household make ends meet after two years of job issues and health issues and life-in-general issues. We have an 11-month old in the house, and as he inches toward his first birthday, he becomes increasingly the adventuresome, belligerent toddler, taking more energy and attention. And he's awfully cute, so you really want to give him that attention. We have a 15-year old in the house, and thankfully, he's very self sufficient. But he still needs things, and he can't yet drive himself.

And really, life in general is sort of misty and questionable right now -- not just for me, I know -- and not all the lights are working properly.

And perhaps I really am going insane.

The other day, I asked Chris if he would score me some speed, because maybe on drugs I could get all the things done in less of the hours. He said "You  might need drugs, but those are the wrong ones." So, I'm guessing that's a no.

In the same day, my teenage son looked at me as I was doing or saying something in the kitchen that, apparently, was weird. He said, "It's possible all your blood is heroin."

The consensus seems to be that I'm so screwed up that I'm either in need of drugs that aren't speed or that I am, in fact, drugs incarnate.

So, I'm settling for eating popcorn or cookies and typing more words and exchanging Facebook messages with people who understand the dilemma of being creative and also the dilemma of cookies.

It is April 21, and I have 9 days and around 33,000 words to go (plus many more paid words that don't count toward the novel). And I'll be late. But it will be awesome when I arrive.


  1. I'm SO happy for you, heroin blood and insanity and all, for doing this. I'm only around 25k words into mine and DETERMINED to finish the first draft by the time I hit Florida in June (I'm like a hurricane, only pastier white and with a Fargo accent). Keep going, lady!

    1. This is SO exciting! 25,000 words is so many words of fiction, I've learned. Plus, you are writing while also contending with accidental demons, so that's even harder!

  2. Hey, better late than never. Keep it up!

    1. "Better late than never" - #wwmnd!