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Daily Stats:Words: some
Caffeine: morning cup + midday iced latte
Evil Calories: brownies, peach crisp, homemade ice cream
Reality TV: Life on the D-List
Oh, dear, sweet little blog. How I've been neglecting you. I feel bad, but you have to understand, outside of your fun little boxes of words and pictures and links, there is a great big world where there are some pretty nifty things. Nifty things can be distracting to a girl like me. And, to be honest, dear, sweet little blog, I've been feeling lately like you don't fully represent the awesomeness that is my life. You certainly give props to one of the main things I have mad love for - writing. However, my other passion - food - has been elbowing me for some time in the spotlight, so I'm trying to figure out how to nurture both of you at the same time.
I wonder, dear, sweet little blog, if you would be willing to share some cyberspace with the foody side of me. Or, perhaps it's best if I give it its own room. After all, you've had this all to yourself for a long time now. I can't ask you to suddenly clear out half your closet. Where would we put all your shoes?
I guess, dear, sweet little blog, you'll just have to stay tuned, and when I suddenly adorn you with a curious little link to your sister site, please know that, though I will love you both the same, you will always be my first baby.
Daily Stats:Words: 4 or maybe 2000, not sure which
Caffeine: morning cup + midday iced mocha
Evil Calories: currently addicted to chips and salsa. Mainly the chips part.
Reality TV: it's far too embarrassing to admit
So, I have this nifty little thing on my blog called SiteMeter. It basically tracks every visit to my blog. Yep. I'm watching you. C'mon, get that finger out of your nose and, for god's sake, change that shirt. You've been wearing it for a week now.
No, seriously, I can't actually see you (but you should still change that shirt and keep your fingers out of your nose). But I can see where you are and how long you stayed. AND, it also will tell me what search term you tippity-tapped into google if you happened to simply stumble upon my blog. And, as it turns out, some of the more interesting search terms that lead to my blog are "I'm too sexy for my cat", "I'm too sexy for my heels" (both of which have this post to thank) and...wait for it...wa-a-a-a-a-it for it..."cat sexy in heels".
Okay...if you are one of these "cat sexy in heels" people and you are reading this post, please step away from the computer, grab the yellow pages and try to find yourself some urgent, low-cost shock treatment. Or just jab a fork in your eye. Or maybe even take your brain out and soak it in bleach for a while. Seriously, what's wrong with you? You're embarrassing your mother. I think you should leave. Everyone else can stay and play, even the "too sexy for my heels" people. Though, I suspect you have a certain...ehem... "need" that my little ol' blog will not be able to fulfill. But after you find your weirdo-rama smut, c'mon back for some nice, wholesome entertainment.
Daily Stats:Words: breathing
Caffeine: morning cup so far
Evil Calories: 400 therapeutic cookies
Reality TV: Chopped
I'm one of those people who reminds myself that no matter how grim my life seems to be, there's always someone else who's been dealt a harder hand. Yes, things have a taken a harsh downward turn for us, but I'm quite certain that there are handfuls of other people out there nosediving straight to crapsville. We're not nosediving yet. We're just circling it slowly, which still gives us time veer off into greener grass. But I'm not here to post about how things have gone slightly ass over teakettle in my world. I'm here to post about cake.
Yes, cake. I don't mean the Betty Crocker boxed mix with the tub of chocolate flavored trans fat. I mean CAKE:
(That last one is the cake from our wedding! It was so awesome, even though the frosting turned everyones lips blue)
People always ask were writers get their ideas. I, like many, get mine everywhere. A simple trip to the grocery store can spark an idea. So can sitting on the couch like a sloth watching the Food Network, which is where inspiration pounced on my head last night. I realized that I'm missing a huge opportunity in my WIP. I love cake. The love to look at cake, eat cake, and when I'm feeling frisky, I love making cake. I love the whole concept of cake. No one is ever sad or suffering around cake. Cake means people are happy. Then I thought, duh...why am I not writing about cake? I mean, hello, one of my characters runs a cafe the revolves around cake, yet the plot of my story currently has little to do with the actual cake. It's just a backdrop. But the thought of bringing the cake into the spotlight makes me giddy and happy, and I'm all about the giddy and happy right now.
Obviously, this opens a whole new door of research. Sugar arts, fondant - and probably five thousand other things I know NOTHING about. But my MC knows nothings about them either when she first walks into the cafe, so we can figure it out together. So, in the next few weeks if I ramble on about frosting or post pictures of demented experimental sugar flowers, just roll with it. K?
Daily Stats:Words: where's my walker?
Caffeine: morning cup + midday iced latte
Evil Calories: chocolate chip muffins that came out like bricks (but I ate them anyway, cuz chocolate chip bricks are still yummy)
Reality TV: ANTM reruns on Oxygen
For reason that are still beyond explanation, I wandered into a dark corner of the internet today and found myself watching the 2009 MTV Movie Awards. Yeah...um...I just have one tiny little question. WHO THE CRAP ARE THESE PEOPLE? I know who Andy Samberg is and I know what's her drink from Twilight...Kristin "can't act my way out of a paper sack" Stewart and Cedric Diggory from HP who plays the girly vampire dude - but seriously...the rest of them...no clue! There are a bunch of Vanessas and a few more Kristins and some chick with slicked back hair who just sat in the audience and tried to look all sexy and brooding but instead looked like she had a bug in her brain. And then these Vanessas are being nominated for their "breakthrough" performances in High School Musical part 435. I realize these aren't the Oscars, but pu-leeeeeeeeeeeeez!
So, I was sitting there being all snarky and pissy and judgmental, and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Duh. I'm old. AND MTV is no longer cool. It's been overrun by douche bags and muffys with highlights. So, it's not just me getting old, it's MTV going through a midlife crisis. If MTV still played...oh, gee...what were those things...hmmmm...let's see...oh, that's right...VIDEOS, perhaps I wouldn't suddenly feel like I need to find myself a walker and look into a career as a greeter at Walmart.
I'm still convinced that we (Gen X-ers) were the last great generation. We had Nirvana and Wayne's World and Reality Bites. Ethan Hawke vs. Zach Efron? C'mon! (and if there are any Gen Y-ers reading this and you only know Ethan from Training Day...get thee to Netflix and add Reality Bites to your queue!)
So, who's old with me? C'mon. I know you're out there...
Daily Stats:Words: some old, some new, some borrowed, some blue
Caffeine: morning cup + midday cappuccino
Evil Calories: pretzels with peanut butter and little hunks of dark chocolate
Reality TV: ANTM reruns on Oxygen
Today I visited my old stomping ground, the cafe at Barnes & Noble. It's been months since I parked my keyster in the cozy little corner and tippity-tapped an entire day away. Funny thing about revisions, though. When I'm working on the first draft of something, I just go, go, go and go. Revisions are a different story. I can only go, go, go and go for little sprints before I want to tear my head off and throw it at someone (preferably the girl yammering at top volume on her cell phone about, like, how, like, so annoying Evan is, like, he totally, like, bugs, and, like, did you see what he was wearing? It was, like, so bananas. BTW, I thought "bananas" was good, but Evan apparently was not dressed well. So, "bananas" is bad now?) Anyway, revisions for me are a lot of stop-start-stop-start-go back-stop-start-go back-go back-go back-go back-start-stop-scream-stop-scream some more-start-stop. The whole process makes my brain go squish, which is why it's good that Barnes & Noble has cheesecake.
I don't actually eat it, mind you. I just watch while gaggles of rail thin tweens cram their cake holes. I hope they know that some day they will no longer have the metabolisms of rabid weasels on crack.
And on a more introspective note, it occurred to me today that I might, might be dragging my heels just a teeny, weeny bit on revisions because revisions lead to a completed manuscript, which leads to queries, which leads to rejections, which leads to me hiding in my closet freebasing Funyuns and Hostess products. But, I'll delve deeper into that psychological phenomenon when I'm having a better hair day. I'm already in a fight with my bangs. I have no room on my plate for further self doubt.
Daily Stats:Words: I hate regurgitated hair-balls
Caffeine: morning cup + midday iced latte
Evil Calories: ice cream with homemade chocolate sauce that unexpectedly turned into that chocolate shell stuff you get at Dairy Queen which made us almost weep with joy
Reality TV: Tori & Dean
I'm still very much on the fence about my new banner, so if you see it come and go over the next few weeks, don't be surprised. It's okay, but I look WAY too nice. I am nice, but perhaps not the "tea cozies and masterpiece theater" nice the picture is alluding to. I mean, just below the picture and to the right, I illustrate my firm belief that Rachel Ray is the anti-christ. There's kind of a disconnect. Besides, I find my enormous zombie eye a little disturbing. If you stare at it for too long you might try to eat someones brain.
In other news, I had yet another dream last night about my cousin Brad Pitt. Yes, again. I've lost track of how many dreams I've had where Mr. Jolie is my cousin. I really can't figure out where this stems from. I'm not exactly a fan, I don't find him dreamy and I most of the time feel he couldn't act his way out of a paper sack. But last night I found myself off in dreamland in some weird triangular apartment with mustard colored walls, trying to convince Brad that he should have some Breyers Slow Churn ice cream instead of the regular because it had 1/2 the fat (this stems from a discussion my husband and I had before bed - have you ever looked at how much fat is in regular ice cream? Frightening! It's a wonder our arteries don't just slam shut). So, Brad says, "I'm sick of dieting," and I said, "You don't have to diet, just don't inhale trans fat at light speed." And then he stood up and his pants were really tight...not good tight, like busting at the seams tight, so I said, "Ummm...don't take this the wrong way, but those pants make you look like ten pound of shit crammed into a five pound bag," and he dropped his shoulders, let out a long sigh and started doing push-ups on the table. Then my dad walked in and started talking about a house fire (he's a fire chief, so this is quite normal) and my mom walked in with a casserole (she's Lutheran, so this is also quite normal). The end.
Well, sort of "the end". There was something about ghosts and then somewhere in there I broke my salad spinner and I was very upset.
Why can't I dream about cool things, like ninjas or flame-throwers?
Daily Stats:Words: 4. Or maybe 700. It's hard to count when you're editing because you're using a lot words you already wrote. (note to self: thank self later for writing so many usable words.)
Caffeine: morning cup
Evil Calories: Demonic chocolate chip cookies. They are made entirely of evil.
Reality TV: Fashion Show
So, as you can probably see, I'm playing around with some different looks for my bloggy blog. Not sure about this banner yet. It didn't quite come out like we hoped. I look like an advertisement for a British adaptation of an E.M. Forster novel. Oh, well. I've been using Gimp, which is the knock off version of Photoshop, and although I realize that it's free, I'd still like to find the geek squad who created it and give them gigantic wedgies. I can dig minor quirks, but when I'm yelling, "OHMYGOD, YOU SUCK DONKEY BALLS!" at 7:00 in the morning, clearly some serious tweaks need to be made. Especially when 7:00 in the morning is prime writing time. Curse you, nerds with greasy t-zones. If you'd stop playing World of Warcraft for three seconds, perhaps us dead broke, pseudo-creative wannabes wouldn't suffer so.
Speaking of writing...
By show of hands, who here writes in their head as they're trying to fall asleep? It's unfortunate that they haven't invented some kind of telepathic wi-fi brain-to-hard drive downloading system. They really need to get on that. (Of course, it would also record the completely asinine things I often think about while falling asleep, like what Jabba the Hut looked like as an infant, or why the hell the Shamwow guy is wearing an earpiece. I think it's supposed to be his microphone, but I'm convinced he's really getting directives from zombie aliens who want to eat our brains.)
I've been in a nasty stand off with Chapter 1 lately, though I've been at a loss to figure out why. But last night as I was dozing off, my subconscious elbowed me in the eyeball and spelled it out. Two words: Information dumping. Aha! I sprung out of bed (7-8 hours later, mind you) and opened Chapter 1 again. DUH!! Chapter 1 should be in traction from the amount of crap its trying to relay. So, I've taken a hatchet to it, and we're getting along much better now. Thank you, subconscious elbow to the eyeball!
Care to share any writing epiphanies you've had while slipping off to dreamland?
(Oh, btw, if you have a moment, go visit my writery friend Debra at Write on Target. Today is her 100th post, and she's giving away some fab prizes to mark the occasion.)
