Usually when a blogger disappears for an extended period of time, the blogger’s return post is all about “Hey sorry, I haven’t posted in a while, but I had been trapped under a heavy piano.”
So let’s just assume that’s where I’ve been and get to it.
I’ve always said I wanted to write a novel.
I usually say this after binge-watching TV. Then I continue my streak of writing nothing and go to sleep because tomorrow, obviously tomorrow will be the day I start writing. No more procrastination on “Magic Tomorrow Day!”
Magic tomorrow day arrives and passes uneventfully. I learn that Lifetime is making a behind-the-scenes Saved by the Bell movie so it’s not a complete loss. I’m so excited. I’m so excited. I’m so. . . scared.
Did I write anything?
No, but *insert famous Scarlett O’Hara quote*
I will definitely start writing once I lose 10 pounds. Once I remove that extra fat in my head, it will clear up the brain juice, rev up the electrons of smart and words will magically appear in sentences that sound more good.
I failed biology.
There is the laundry. Always the laundry. Where does it all come from? Seriously, I own two pairs of jeans and yet my machine looks like a denim emporium. Could this be the subject of my soon-to-be written novel? The protagonist is a plucky vampire-fighter who falls in love with a zombie preacher, but can’t commit because of the laundry and BRAIINNNNNSSSSS.
Shit, that sucks.
There’s people that write and stuff. I’ve seen it. I’ve even reviewed it. Not to blow my own crumpled party horn, but I review children’s books for a librarararaarain publication. I just reviewed one. It was nearly 300 pages about a sock monkey.
That is not hyperbole.
There were a bunch of sock monkeys actually. They couldn’t really do anything, just had thinking thoughts and that’s the story for nearly 300 pages.
My review was only two words: “shit sandwich.”
But, hey, it’s being published. At least this person committed to writing something–albeit something incomprehensible–and completed the task.
I will write, by gum and never use the words “by gum” again. I swear, by gum.
I keep getting tripped up, that’s the problem. I went away on a “vacation”. A vacation is time to rejuvenate the mind and body, but a “vacation” is when one wishes to be killed by a Chuck E Cheese automaton because how much fucking longer are we going to spend in this skeeball prison? My “vacation” was with my parents and preschool-age son. On my “vacation”, my son told me to “go away” an average of 54 times a nanosecond so if you do the math it’s: x + go away/chuck e cheese – sanity + endless strip mall = no novel.
Today was the day I was going to start writing. It is July 1st and mercury is in the seventh house of cards or game of thrones, however astronony works. I stared at the computer screen for 15 minutes then watched The Leftovers on HBO on Demand. *spoiler alert: way too much dog-shooting.
I had just about given up when I saw this picture on a friend’s Facebook wall:
While I may not write the greatest sock monkey/zombie erotica tale every told today, I may tomorrow.
Or Thursday. Definitely Thursday.