It’s like he knows…

My husband knows me pretty well. “No TV!” he proclaimed before sending me downstairs. “Only write.”

And I’m like, “Pfft! What if I write a bunch? Don’t I get a break? A reward?”

“No TV! Only write,” he insisted.

“But what if I write a bunch of words?”

“Okay, if you write 10 googleplex words.”

He resisted, but I negotiated down to 300. I told him 1,000 would have been a good mark, as I can write 2,000 in an hour when motivated.

And yet here I am, watching TV and not writing.

Argh. I need to go play. I’m gonna play.

Swear.

(Damn, he really knows me well.)

My son just dared me not to write something…

I’m having a little bit of a surreal moment here as I both use Chromecast to put this on my television and use the Game Bar to record my typing, but why not have a little fun sometimes?

My son just told me, “Writer’s don’t do that! That’s not how you write a story!”

Oh…that sounded like a dare.

I don’t know how we got on the subject, but I’ll start by explaining that my son is 13, and I have a healthy teenage sense of humor. On the drive home from work, he mentions he wants to be a writer! (I’ve only been trying to get him to write for three years, but apparently when he told his Grandpa about an idea today, suddenly it clicked. Whatever works!)

Yay, another writer in my house! So I say, “I’m going to play with Clover tonight.” Clover being a new character growing in my head. And somehow, I decide it’ll be funny to say, “Spoiler alert: everybody dies.” Which confuses my 13-year-old, so I ramble a bit about how from the moment we’re born we’re just marching toward death. And in a funny, movie announcer voice, I say, “For some, it takes 30 years. For others, 60. For Clover, for-ev-errrrr!”

Which tickles me to no end, because as I mentioned, my son and I are on the same humor level at this point. Fart jokes abound.

Me: “Oh, maybe I’ll do that! Every chapter will start with a spoiler alert!”

Son: “You can’t do that! That’s not how stories are written!”

Me: “No, ’cause it’ll be like, ‘Spoiler alert: the dog gets it’, except then the dog will like, go fetch a stick, and get it, and bring it back.”

Son: “No, Mom, you can’t do that.”

Me: “And then, ‘Spoiler alert: the guy gets the girl’, and it’ll be Clover into this guy who is really into someone else, and he gets that girl, not Clover.”

Son: “Mom!”

Me: “Or maybe, ‘Spoiler alert: the guy takes her’, and it’s a guy taking Clover across town, to the store, to buy her milk!”

Which he did not find amusing, except that he couldn’t stop laughing. And then it came up again tonight as I was sending everyone to bed, and he’s still convinced – no, I just can’t write that!

In fact, his exact words were:

You can’t write that, Mom, or I guarantee you’ll never earn another dollar from writing again.

OH REALLY?!

That sounded like a dare.

<insert evil grin>

In fact, I believe it was.

So every chapter I write about Clover will start with a spoiler alert, which will give away the contents of the chapter.

Clover is tall, with dark hair (I swear it sounds like I’m Mary-Sue-ing this sucker, but I’m not), she hates Leprechauns (but not the Irish), her favorite colors are green and gold, and she likes to run away.

I’m gonna go play with Clover. ‘Cause someone said I can’t.

Oh, look – you can watch me write this post! :D

A new summer routine

Well, my son has decided that he doesn’t like summer day camp. This would be worse if he was my daughter’s age, but he’s a teen. Okay, I get it. We’ve made accommodations and now his summer involves more adult activities, such as helping me at the office, helping his grandma strip and re-stain a fence, and other such activities.

There is, of course, still time for relaxing. Many of the office activities allow for background YouTube/Movie watching, and as he’s not employed by the office, he can do that without getting fired. I get some help, he gets some experience, it’s good. And the outside fence thing, if it’s super hot, will include appropriate breaks. I’m certain he and his grandparents will be able to come to some accord as to how much relaxing must happen to maintain productivity.

My May…ah, May, I remember you fondly. When I kicked ass with my mornings which led to kicking ass with writing, which led to publishing things, etc. Summer is here, though, and I haven’t gotten that routine back. I’ll likely have to wait until September until it returns. Until then, I’m forging onward as best I can with the things that matter. They come in small doses, but they still come.

Otherwise things are okay. They don’t always seem okay, but they are. Kids are healthy, roof is still over our heads. There may be other Things going on, but they can’t be dealt with at the moment, so I shall avoid them.

It’s a Tuesday! Tuesdays are my favorite days. How is your Tuesday treating you?

Practice

It’s just practice.

There’s no test at the end to tell me I’ve failed.

There’s no judge waiting to grade me.

It’s just practice.

Practice makes better, and better, and better, and better.

Practice might make perfect, or perfect for me.

It’s just practice.

Practice, practice, practice.

The only way to fail is to give up.

The only way to fail is to not try.

It’s just practice.

Practice this, practice that. Practice being involved, practice focusing on what makes me happy. Practice squeezing more out of the day, practice allowing yourself to be happy with what’s been done.

Practice, practice, practice.

It’s just practice.

Now, of course, that word has stopped having meaning to me, and doesn’t even look like it’s spelled correctly.

That would be practicing until it stops becoming important and just becomes something we do.

Practice.

Once Upon a Time

Tuesdays are a day when I blog here, because I tend not to have time to write fiction words on Tuesdays and this is a good time to make sure I’ve got a weekly post up.

So my week! My week was not as horrible as others, but it wasn’t great. Wednesday was teary. Friday was drama. Monday was prone to injury. We’re not going to talk about it further.

Today has been nice. I’m hanging out with lots of pizza and my writing group. We’re drinking caffeine (most of us) and have gorged on white cheese and garlic. It’s been delightful, honestly.

The rest of the week should be fiction-filled. It’s Camp NaNoWriMo, didn’t you know. While I have yet to successfully complete a Camp NaNo, I still think this time will be the the time I do it. And then it isn’t.

Ah, well.

Rambly mess! Rambly mess! <3