Things that Don’t Matter

To start: Kyra posted last week and for some reason it didn’t go up. She just wanted you to know.
And now for my blog that I hope posts . . .

This is the last week of April.
Two things should happen.
I should finish this rewrite.
I should get us moved.

The deal is, I don’t really want to move
and
I don’t really love this book I’m working on.

Still–well, we all know what has to happen on both counts, right?
Half what I have to do is ‘easy’ in a really hard way. I mean, I call the piano movers, make sure the old house is clean and the people in my new house don’t leave it wrecked (I have this way weird feeling about that . . .), change the electricity and gas and cable. I have to pack the boxes and dishes and clean the old fridge and mop floors and try and find my beautiful ring that I love and have lost because of moving things and hope the rain stops. It’s all this physical labor and we all know what a silly neck I have so I have to be careful. And when I am done and have settled my girls and my mom and the dog all around me, hopefully we won’t have to move again, right? That’s the hope. A place of my own. A way to seal off the last few crummy years and do something that will make me strong and give my girls a real feeling of security.

I want all that.

The other half, this rewriting, well, I’m kind of stumped.
Every morning for an hour or so I’ve gotten up and worked on the book and added scenes and taken things out that seemed weak and wondered how I was going to make the dsytopian feel real. If only rewriting was as easy as packing a box or calling Comcast.

Are the new words working?
Am I developing the scene and drama and people in the way I should?
Should I keep four characters (we all know that may be one too many for me to handle)?
Is the action moving?
Why is the bad guy the bad guy? I think I know, but is it enough?
Why did the people’s feet swell right before they died in the movie last night?
Is there time to exercise or is packing boxes and doing rain dances enough to burn fat?
How I do I clean my mattress top?
Okay, wait, this is kind of what happens as I’m writing. My brain feels like there are too many things in it and I have to try and solve them all.

This is what I want: A good book. A really good book that is different from anything I have written before.
And a place to set up my office, even if it means squishing it into my bedroom.

So deep breath. For several hours today I am going to concentrate on this DD. I can pack and think, you know? I can work on the worries of the book.
April Marathoning, right?
That’s what we’re all doing.
Not just me.
All of us are doing the hard things (or thongs, depending) and for a moment each day we can share stuff on this blog and with people who understand and know we’re not a lone.
Right?

I have some really awful icky gross gossipy stuff for next week. Not sure I’m going to share because you will all feel less about me.
But
it’s about books signings
and how if I EVER get this DD done . . .

I’m just saying.

6 Comments

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6 responses to “Things that Don’t Matter

  1. Denece

    Must we wait for the awful icky gross gossipy stuff?
    Anticipation is valued only when planning a great vacation. My vacation (singular tense..other ‘trips’ are but a change of location, where my ‘duties’ seem even more shaded.) was not as wonderful as it was planned. So I remember my anticipation rather than my vacation.
    Please, feed us the real thing. OK?

    Maybe WE will be reduced to writing awful icky gross gossipy stuff mad-libs about your book-signing:

    Once upon a time, actually April 23rd, CLW had a book signing in SLC. The weather was fab, her car was clean, she was soused on caffeine, last night’s dream would be journal entry time as soon as she had a moment–with fictional names, of course… but?

  2. I’m sad Kyra’s post didn’t cross the code bridge of the internet galaxy.

    Manual labor is hard. But it accomplishes something. There is a finality to it. I love it. I love building things and fixing things and destroying things. Too bad my body makes me pay when I do. But still. I can stand there and look at my new in-ground fire pit that I built and say, cry all you want body, my kids get to make smores in their own backyard.

    This is not like writing at all. There is no end. It’s like laundry. You think you’re making a dent and then you realize, all six people in my family keep wearing clothes!! I guess there are temporary ends. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of books in stores. There are people who can say every stitch of clothing in the house has been cleaned, folded and put away. This only happens at my house when my husband decides to tackle the laundry room either on a Saturday or when I’m away for a few days.

    What does that mean? I think I’ve done it before. I have vague memories.
    So far for me and writing, I’ve been down to the last basket when all of a sudden the beeping of a dumptruck sounds and it unloads on me. START OVER. But I’m still tired from what I just almost accomplished. So then I have to walk away and find something to do before I go insane. Like build stuff and break stuff.

    Here’s the deal with me lately – for real. I started all of this just wanting to magnify a talent. I’ve never cared about being published. Something has changed. I don’t know if it’s been hanging around Carol, or getting to know more amazing authors and agents or just plain maturing, but I want to write my absolute best. Maybe that’s what everyone wants to do. But for me, this is new. So it’s time to sort the laundry.

  3. Rain dances = to make it rain. Maybe stop doing them?

  4. This was posted in the wrong place! Sorry. Was replying to Carol.

  5. Your mention of icky gossip or whatever makes me all anxious. I hope things are okay.

    Also, does it help to know that I have complete faith in you? And also that you don’t have to be perfect to be perfect? I hope that makes sense.

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