I’m having a most difficult time writing these days. The spirit is willing, but the inspiration is flat. I sit and stare at the screen and nothing happens. So I just revise and revise what I’ve already written and try to think of the next thing. And the next thing never calls, never writes…
I’m sure it will work out. It has to work out. Because I’m looking at a big scary deadline and IT calls and writes all the time. I wake up in the middle of the night with the deadline looming over me. Everywhere I drive, the deadline jumps out of the shrubbery and startles me. I try to take my mind far away from what I’m working on by watching episodes of Absolutely Fabulous and I see the deadline sneering at me from Patsy Stone’s face. And when I do the other work I’m doing right now, I feel the deadline’s cold breath on the back of my neck. Or maybe that’s just better air conditioning than I have in the home office.
I hate the deadline.
On the plus side, after spending the day together with Rex at the emergency vet (cha-ching!), Tim colored my roots and I’m no longer the hideously graying beast bitch from hell. In fact, he had to use his color on me because mine vanished (I’m guessing Lazlo–since he’s been eating raw food, he’s really trimmed down, and I think he’s decided to wash that gray right out of his fur because he’s planning on looking for love). When I say HIS color, I mean the dark brown Tim uses, not his blue. I love the darker brown, so I’m happy with this color. I’d take a photo, but I don’t want to.
So here are the dogs. Their hair color is always perfection.
Sick Rex at the vet.
Guinness has developed a limp as a result of Rex going to the vet.
(That’s her “back to me” attitude toward life.)
Margot reminds Rex that the grass on the other side of the fence
is always the best kind to throw up.
Oops! I just emailed you for a favor.
Disregard! I’ll do something else.
Guinness makes me think so much of Phoebe.
I sent you an e-mail. This is the second time that I’ve barely hit send on an e-mail to you and have gotten back a notice that the mail is undeliverable. If you don’t get this one, let me know, and I’ll try again.
I think I would freak, if I was trying to be creative under pressure. That’s bound to be hell.
I am up insanely late working on PK… I have gotten Emily through her date … good for Emily, wrretched for me, and soon she is going to have to do a little Drewin’ the hardest part .. as I have no idea who the killer is. Thankfully Dash has pooped and is on his bed, and I am going to give it another half our …
I forgot to say, I’m cheering for you, from here. : )
I am sure this writing thing will get better. Deadlines are what killed my ambition at Savannah College of Art and Design. I loved painting, drawing, and all that, but once I had deadlines to do it in, I stopped liking it as much. Graphic Art and Design was just not in the cards…
What is it with roots? I wish someone would invent a pill we could take, one that is preferably not harmful, that would stop the grey from growing in. While I am back to being my red all over, I know that the grey will start to poke through, causing that shudder while looking in the mirror, realizing, I am 2 years older than you, and seeing my life flash before my eyes. Grey roots are annoying.
Dogs always do have the best color!
I used to be a history graduate student, and after years of insane deadlines (if you consider how much we were expected to read and write in a given amount of time), I eventually became really tired of constantly living in a constant state of perpetual emergency and stress.
Some people work well under stress, but I don’t, to put it lightly. I’ve often wondered if I would handle it any better if I had to write something now under a deadline. All my published stuff so far was written by the time I submitted it.
Have you ever read Ralph Keyes’ The Courage to Write? He has a great section in it about how writers have used fear to fuel their writing. Both of Keyes’s books on writing are unbelievably good.
Yes my dear, but your smile is always perfection.
I could never be a writer (aside from the obvious lack of talent). I was always one of those who pulled the all nighter the day before the big papers were due in college because I couldn’t (wouldn’t) make myself sit down and work on it any sooner.