The kids book is done. Now what?
For the last two days or so I've been on a self appointed “hiatus” from writing...from writing anything. Not a good idea. Sure, it's good to lave the big project behind for a spell, you know, to regroup and charge the batteries before the uphill battle of editing, getting an agent and getting published begins. I can't even begin to imagine the terror. It was bad enough trying to sell my first book, “Rabbit Every Tuesday”, which is a far cry from my kids book “In The Thicket”, and I'm not looking forward to going through that again.
But not writing anything? Bullcrap! That's like telling a musician you can't play guitar for a week. Or some nerdy kid you can't play video games for a while. Or my friend Hillary you can't watch “LOST” for a month. Just imagine the misplacement they must feel. Well, enter the dragon of my disease kids. Due to the fact that I hate phones and can't really speak very well, the great and mighty magnet has given me the disorder of wanting to write. I just wish I could type better...
I was a wreck yesterday at work, Like really ornery, pissy even. Halfway through the day I realized two things: 1) I am totally missing the Tucson Festival of Books; couldn't get the time off, mainly because I'm taking some time off when She-Ra gets back in town (next Sunday!) and 2) I haven't written since Thursday, which was, like, two days ago. I miss hanging out with the characters in that book, following them on adventures, watching mysteries unfold. Again, it's like ordering a painter to stop painting. If the hands wanna move along with the brain, they're gonna move. I just chose to watch breakdancing movies and drink beer. That got boring...really fast!
Plus I need that extra company of writing to keep me going. Being left alone for a month or so, even being the perennial 'loner' that I am, is rather tough on the constitution. I don't sleep as well when She-Ra is gone, the dog and cat can only understand a scant of what I say, mainly “sit!” and “get off the table!”, and going out by myself is ridiculous. I'm not gonna pony up to my favorite dive bar alone. No way. Why? My fridge is stocked with food and beer and I don't wanna carry a conversation with some toofless cracky about some sport or 'Nam. The safety of our lil' homestead, packed with movies, cable, internet and books is just fine with me. Plus She-Ra is great protection. Those boobs of hers are like armament; two big shields to thwart any harm coming my way. Thanks baby!
Point is, (sigh), I hate to say this but...I'm a writer! Published, paid or not, its what I do and what I am. Can't stop it now, in too deep my friends. My day job is the hobby here, not the act of sitting in front of the machine, opening up a word file and typing till my fingers are sore. That's the real gig, the A-train to Happy Island. So forget what I said about “taking a break” from this act. I have some books to write.
Now, what was I saying...?
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