Well, here I am at the end of a long week… all of two days. Of course, the week is bound to get longer, since 24 hours from now I’m on a slow boat to China. Or a fast minivan to Wyoming. Whatever.
Drove 780 miles round trip the other day to end up right way I started, sans dog. My little brother is safely and happily with my folks, so the 12 hour trip was well worth it. Especially since I’ve been able to sleep for two whole nights in a row. How did I ever manage to have babies and not die from exhaustion? I must have been younger and tougher. Which is reason number 1 I pity 40-year-old mothers. Then again, maybe it’s the kids who wore me down to the nub prior to our canine house guest. Who knows. I’m still rambling.
So tomorrow we have a 10 1/2 hour drive ahead of us, but the hubby has offered to drive most of it since I drove alone on Saturday. Which theoretically frees me to write. I say theoretically, because unlike my old laptop (emphasis on old), this one plays DVDs. So I’m wondering if he’ll notice when the typing stops and I start watching Rear Window or something. (He’s already made me promise to pack Dial M for Murder, so apparently we’ll be on a Hitchcock theme.) So the kids can watch cartoons in the back, and the hubby or I (whoever’s not driving) can watch on the laptop. Suddenly he thinks spending $600 on this was a really good idea.
But I have to get something done. NaNo has not worked out well for me, yet again, and I have less than 10K written in the month of November. Ya know, one would think I’d just learn that signing up for NaNo is a surefire way to assure my November is insane and I get nothing done. But I’ve figured out why I used to be more productive, even with a baby in the house. A hundred years ago, back when I could pump out 50K in 28 days and still cook a turkey, I could write at the office. Back then, I had this easy breezy job that required little thought and even less time, leaving me hours unattended to work on my manuscript. I still have the same job, but I was stupid enough to let them know I could write a competent psychological history. Hence why I no longer have time to write fiction. I’m spending my days writing stuff that is much stranger than that.
So I have 10 hours to Cheyenne and back to write 40K. There is no way on God’s green earth, but I’ll try.
You ever think about that phrase? God’s green earth? Why green, when it is so obviously blue from space. Of course, that’s probably because it dates back to pre- John Glenn/Buzz Aldrin/Niel Armstrong times, and probably originated in Ireland or someplace. And it’s precisely tangents like that that keep me from writing 50K in November.
So tomorrow I hit the road. And so, hopefully, do Isabelle, Rex and Michael. Wish me luck!