I’m in the coffeeshop I usually write from. A very adorable little girl just said Mommy, that lady has pink on her hair and the broad grabbed her arm and said SHUT UP SHUT UP, where are your manners??
Dude, I DO have pink hair. There’s nothing insulting about that. I put it there. No need to jerk your kids, no need to give them extra shit to discuss in therapy as adults, for cryingoutloud.
Anyway. I had a marvelous weekend. I hid the entire time. My manuscript is flying together. I’m pleased.
Know how I often talk about writing to music– one song again and again in a loop to keep that mood going in a text? Yes, well, when the song gives out, when I feel like I’ve written everything out of it that I need to, I more to another and that’s sometimes a little hold up while I dig out the next song and dust it off. So, here I was, this morning, typing away and my character moves to a vastly different environment and, so, doy, suddenly the song I’ve been writing to stopped working. it was remarkable— like mid-sentence! I was typing away and then that song was fucking done and I knew it.
So, I’m taking a bloggy break to dig up my next song to write to death.
Oh, and you know, I think I might just have the title of this book, too. Oh man, this is good.