I started writing something new a few days ago–another coming of age type story that uses Batman Forever as a turning point in a young woman’s understanding of sexuality– but I’m still… you know, pregnant and not having much luck in not sitting on the couch ignoring my discomfort and pain with endless article-reading and Buzzfeed quizzes.
I just think that there are times when you need to let time pass rather than spending it wisely and late pregnancy is one of those times.
But I assume there will come a time when I can write again, perhaps with an infant strapped to my chest, perhaps about all the things I won’t be doing because… I have an infant strapped to my chest.
Although… I do have a WIP that involves a woman with an infant strapped to her chest who walks out of Target only to meet up with a mythical creature spouting nonsense rhymes at her as a call to action. She complains a lot about her husband not helping enough and not understanding how difficult it is to constantly be with your child with very little outlet other than weekly trips to Target. And if that’s not “write what you know” then there’s no such thing.
Sometimes the internet is a wonderful place full of resources and opportunities and sometimes it’s full of bullcrap and terrible people and even some not so terrible people who just don’t get what you’re saying.
Either way, I think it’s healthy to disengage sometimes. When a conversation isn’t working, when two (or more) people are talking about different things, circling around each other but never meeting in the middle, it’s time to call it quits.
While I’ve seen some wonderful acts of bravery, of support, of community on Twitter, I just don’t think it’s a productive place–for me, at least–to have serious conversations about real events or strong feelings. It’s just too easy to misinterpret. Or interpret correctly but respond like a jackhole. I have no energy for that kind of nonsense.
No more politics for me on Twitter. And perhaps I should extend that to Facebook as well. I’ll stick to fun and work on social media and keep my politics where they belong: in the real world with real people who have to look me in the face to spew their idiocy and I, in turn, can respond appropriately.*
* See Figure 1A above
How do you “fight hate”?
With love? That’s metaphor. What do you actually DO other than send more and more and more money to organizations already “fighting hate”?
What do you DO?
What can I do?
Coworker drama! Institusluts! Moms who can’t let go even after they die!
What started as a totally pantsed (that being “by the seat of my”) NaNoWriMo and CampNaNo project has become… A Real Book that you can buy and read and then also review if you’re a responsible reader.
Go get it and read the crap out of it!
“Ohhh, not a player slayer at all, are ya? Just a covert convert.”
“Not quite. I think. I’m not sure what that means. But no, I did not fall for his game. We dated. We… lived together, actually. For quite a while. But it didn’t work out and we broke up and he’s not pleased with how things ended.”
“You dumped him.”
“I ended the relationship, yes.”
“Why? And are you the reason he’s become the Instituslut?”
“The what? Institu–? That’s not even clever.”
“I didn’t come up with it.”
Raise your hand if you’d be all about a Younger/The Bold Type crossover event.
Is it SO CRAZY to think a bunch of 20-somethings (and a faker) all living and working in NYC in the publishing industry wouldn’t run into each other for something or other and then have a wacky feminist adventure in work and life and love and taxis?
I mean… I’ll write a spec script. In my spare time. For my own amusement. You don’t even have to read it as long as someone brings these wonderful people together on my TV screen.
My son said to me the other day, “Mom, whobody’s outside?”
“I don’t think there’s anybody outside, bud,” I said.
“Somebody out dare, Mom. Whobody is it?”
I know it’s part of the process to let kids discover words and then gently correct them when they mispronounce, no matter how cute they are. I reluctantly repeat the words “video” instead of “boodoo” and “computer” instead of “puku” but whobody? Whobody makes sense.
I propose we add “whobody” to the English lexicon and anyone who disagrees will be forced to watch a boodoo on my puku of my son adorably asking “Whobody’s dare?” over and over until ya’ll see the genuis of it.
*not my child.
P.S. Just a couple more days of fun summer lovin’ LGBT novel discounted to $.99 before my new workplace drama about ghosts and self-care launches. Buy some stuff, eh? I got another kid on the way.
Inconvenient timing, this book launch coinciding with some fun pre-term contractions. Very distracting to have to think about both of my babies entering the world around the same time.
The good news is that the contractions have subsided and it looks like I’ll keep on bein’ pregnant for at least another few weeks (although I’d prefer 6 or 7 weeks to keep in line with my due date).
And with my new book coming out August 11, and that delivery being much more predictable and under my own control, slightly less stressful as well.
I’m just all about birthing good things into the world this month.
Lay Her Ghosts to Rest, emerging from Amazon on August 11. Available for pre-order now for $2.99. It’s the least messy project I’ll be delivering in the next month or so.