Wednesday, July 27, 2011
My Writing Vacation
Whew! My horrible vacation out here in Washington, waking up to coffee and a fantastic view of Puget Sound, is almost over. It's been rough, I tell you. Walks along the beach, nice restaurants, wedding cake (not mine--after eighteen years that would be gross), sight-seeing, shopping at all the open air farmer's markets, gabbing with old friends and great relatives...
It was hard. Excruciatingly hard. And we only have two more days to finish up the rest of the homemade ice cream before we fly away. Like I said, it's been rough.
The only good thing about it was that I hardly wrote anything. At least not real writing. I've written scads of stuff in my notebooks about my characters for a novel I've been revising. The characters are truly filling themselves out. But will their depth translate into my revision? No idea. I won't let myself work on it until I have the character bugs all figured out. Maybe I'll never work on it again. It's a waste of time anyway.
Oh, and I did write a poem for my newly married MIL, but, remember, my poetry is all crap. Only she and her new husband appreciated it. Then again, they were the only real audience. Kind of like Emily Dickinson writing poetry for herself, and maybe that creepy editor she had a crush on. The stuff made sense to her, I suppose, and she really didn't want to know if it made sense to any of us. So it doesn't. And my poem probably wouldn't mean anything to you, either. I won't even put it in here, or all two of you who ever read this will just mock it in the comments (and I don't take criticism well at all).
I've also been working through research for two different books. For my mermaid novel, I've been researching life cycles and habits of aquatic mammals, disappearances and strange sightings in the Bermuda Triangle, the Spanish slave trade in the Caribbean, and ocean life in general (especially temperature and sea life changes at various depths)... and soon I'll be researching genetics as well, for various reasons I won't name, mainly because I don't want anybody to STEAL MY IDEAS, even if they completely SUCK (and I'm sure they do).
And finally, I just dropped a load of money here at a local bookstore, where I found books on Native American folklore and spirituality, mysterious creatures of the Pacific Northwest, and a bunch of other eerie things that will likely end up in my Thomas novels--which most of you will never read because they will never be published. I've only written one and a half of them so far, and my aspirations for them are about as likely to be realized as I am to win the Georgia state lottery. (Does Georgia even have a lottery? Don't know. Never bought a ticket. Don't intend to, either. I'm stupid that way.)
Wait! How the hell did that happen? All this time I've been on vacation, I'm still working on my writing. God, this sucks! I can't even keep from writing when I want to. When I'm on vacation. When I've promised myself I'm not writing anymore. When it won't get me anywhere. When it's just frustrating and filled with pain.
At least I can find comfort knowing nobody's got to read it. Ever.
Yeah, I feel better now. Bet you do too.