I'm supposed to be nice...

Okay, I'm supposed to be nice. All the older ladies in my church think I'm nice. Here's a little secret. I'm not, at least not all the time.
I've been sick this week, and last week, with two of the three writing deadlines I had still hanging over my head, I wasn't planning to be nice this week.
And why mess up a good plan?
So, this week, my deadlines done, and no more sleepless nights, I am supposed to be nice.
But I'm not.
Still sick, I was up in the night last night, sipping ginger beer to settle my stomach, and turned on the TV. Some survivor guy was living out in the Sahara, and showed me how to eat a live scorpion. No thank you.
And we had a huge snowstorm this week, only to discover the snowblower had a gas leak, and my husband kept tracking in gasoline. I hate the smell.
Then, my pastor's wife told me how she wasn't able to get in to the hospital for her surgery because of the storm and how the taxis were telling her she had to wait. She was so kind and polite. Much more than I'd have been!!! They kept telling her a twenty minute wait, until she missed her appointment, while I would have been telling the dispatcher that I was needed at the hospital right now! (I told you all I wasn't nice) Of course, it may have been like shooting myself in the foot, but you have to be honest with yourself.
Then, today, it had come to a head. I receive the Romance Writers Report and often read how these young upstart writers are selling stories to electronic publishers after only a few years, (It took me 11) and now they're down to months!! PULEEAASSSE!
What's next? Signing the a contract for three books when you've never written a sentence? What's wrong with paying your dues?
Oh, sure, some of you say it's just sour grapes, and you're probably right, but a part of me is just expressing what most of us have actually thought at some time or another. Right?
Don't look away. Look me in the eye. And know that, like you all, I'm not always the nicest person around.

deep down in the deadline

I have two deadlines. I've dreamt of this time, of facing deadlines feeling fresh from a good night's sleep, full of imagination and creativity.
Well, I have neither. I actually spent all my creativity decorating the church vestry. I redid the Guardians of Hope bulletin board, putting two velvet stockings under it with Guardians of Hope booklets in each one. That's it. And considering I make flatbread roll ups for the snack meant there simply isn't any creativity left.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

No more sunshine

It's hard to be cheerful this time of year. If it's not snowing, it's raining. If it's not raining, it's cloudy, and if it's not cloudy, it's nighttime. One bright spot, and a small one at that, was that I managed to see the Comet Holmes. But it's hardly bright and only seen through binos and green to boot.
I think I have SAD. Seasonal affective disorder. I am exhausted, headachey and want to do nothing but sleep. So today, after a bout of headaches and nausea, I came home, found the plant grow light and hooked it up on top of the fluorescent bulb David Suzuki is raving about and sat down to my lunch. Then I took the whole gizmo downstairs and forced myself to walk on the treadmill for twenty minutes, with this bright light killing my retinas.
I think I'm sprouting leaves.
Still, I'm trying to be positive. Only another month of lessening sunlight and the days get longer. Colder mind you, but longer. And I did get my copy edits done for my next book, Keeping Her Safe, (due out June 2008), and I did finish reading a hilarious book called Murder By Mushroom, by Ginny Aiken. If you go to church and know quirky characters, then they're probably described in this book.
And in the meantime, I'm still struggling to write a book set in the summer. My editor should authorize a trip for me to the Carribean.

The snow has started

Winter is insidiously creeping into our lives. Slowly, until it can strike with full, unmerciful force.
I hate winter. We plan to go south for a vacation early next year, but in the meantime, I have to contend with it now. I had to scrape car windows yesterday until my arms ached and were permenantly stuck in that ghoulish way you see in cheap horror movies.
I put an extra blanket on my bed, too. I'm the kind of sleeper who lives in flannel pygamas, sleeps in her socks with an eye mask, and ear plugs. The ear plugs are because I snore and wake myself up.
In my latest novel, it's summer. And since I'm too cheap to put up the heat to give the impression of warmth, just to help with my writing, it's getting hard to capture the feeling.
And daylight is getting weaker. I want to hibernate. I want to suffer from SAD so much so I only want to sleep.
In jammies, socks and under that extra blanket.

A royalty watch

When I first heard this, I naively thought that it was someone who'd spotted the Queen herself. And this was after being in the writing business for years.
Actually, this is watching the mailbox for royalty statements/cheques. I don't expect any money this time around, as I haven't had a book out in a few years. But with one out this past Sept. next statement may be encouraging.
Regardless, when I saw the red flag up on my neighbour's mailbox, (ours got busted off years ago during a snow storm) I was hopeful.
Well, it was good news, sort of. I got an offer from Tena personal products for a nice carry all and restaurant card. Hey, you got to take your victories when they come.
So in the meantime, I write. I have to polish up three chapters and a synopsis. And the story is determined not to follow what I wrote down.
One Love Inspired writer wanted to shoot all her characters and be done with it.
Some days, that's my sentiment.
Back to writing. Back to life. Back to watching the flag on my neighbour's mailbox.