November 6, 2009

Writing Is My Crack And The Latest Wrong Number Call

Nano is going great. I was taking care of my son on Tuesday and my sister in law on Thursday with doctor’s appointments and have still managed to be a day ahead on word count. Woo hoo!

You know you are a writer if you can’t stop. You get frustrated when your manuscript is turned down and vow you will never write another word but the next thing you know you’re scribbling down missives on the back of grocery receipts or you read a lousy book and just know you can do better.

It’s like a drug. You can’t stop. You want to sometimes but you’re like a junky. Just one more time and then I’ll quit. This is it. I swear.

You write through lunch and realize you forgot to eat or you eat over your computer and find the “B” key is stuck and after getting out the canned air you find a piece of corn chip wedged underneath. Incidentally a straight pin works pretty good to get foreign objects out from under keys.

Writers always have paper or an electronic device they can take notes on, because those ideas like to come at weird times like when you are standing in line at Wal-Mart. Which in case you haven’t already figured out is a wonderful place to find quirky characters for your book. There are all kinds of interesting human beings that shop at these stores and they come as they are-- in their jammies, paint stained work clothes and clown suits. Well okay that probably wasn’t intended to be a clown suit but it would totally work for one.

I wrote a blog one time on wrong numbers and recently I got a new one I thought I’d share with you. I’m not sure why I get these.

At two in the morning on a “Tuesday” a guy calls me on my cell phone:


“Baby I’m so shorry, I didn’t mean it.”

What the hell? I feel the other side of the bed. Husband is in bed… asleep. “What?”

“Ah Baby, you know I love ya.”

“Uh sir, you have the wrong number.”

“Are yer sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Damn! You mean I gotta do this again?”

“Sorry Dude. It’s 2 a.m. How about you wait until morning after you’ve slept (it off) and call her then?”

“Good idea. Thanksh.” Click.

I should really have Dear Abbie’s job.