Metaphorically, of course. Eeeeeee! NaNoWriMo is right around the corner! Looming like a great, big mountain. I’m so excited! I have committed myself to The Sky Pirate’s Wife. Little chunks of plot are coming to me, bit by bit, ready to be put down in a document.
I’m also super buzzed because not only have I thought of the follow-up to The Treasure Hunter’s Lady, but I have plot in mind for a third and final installation of this recently thought-up series. I have plenty to keep me busy this winter, no?
I’ve come to a huge block in my road on C+C. I wrote my little heart out, creating a new ending for this thing because the old one was horrible. Beyond horrible. I was within spitting distance of finishing it. I read it to my husband because it’s cheap entertainment. He said and I’m not paraphrasing here: I want to kill her. Not the evil cook, not the evil cook’s daughter, not the laundress, not the bimbo wannabe nursemaid—that’s right, you guessed it—the heroine, Bridgit. He said in so many words, she whines too much. Well, [insert bad words—lots and lots of them—here]! It’s fine, I say. It’s only twenty-five thousand words. I’ll just snip them off and start over. Again. Outwardly I was a calm, sane, reasonable human being. Mentally I was having the nervous breakdown of the century. Angry chimpanzees got nothin’ on the inner editor. He’s right, of course. You kind of want to slap the holy, ever-loving tar out of her and say “Either straighten up or we’ll find another heroine.”
Ohhhh, I’m trying so hard to put it out of my mind. I have sky pirates to think about. Hell, I’ve only been working on C+C for a year and eight months now. The sky pirates practically write themselves. Stupid lousy characters that don’t cooperate. Seriously, when you sit down and look at the big picture, you kind of have to say, gee, this isn’t working out so well. I should probably quit. Then timid writer confronts angry inner editor and says, “Puh-puh-pwease can we have another shot at it?” Ugh, I hate timid writer. Timid writer needs to grab some characters by the ears, have a serious powwow with said characters and inner editor and get this [bad word] figured out. All angry inner editor ever says is, “Pfft, you’re just gonna screw it up again.” Hey, third time’s the charm, right?
Moving on, so I started a new job for those of you unaware. Or anyone who cared. I’m reminded of that scene from The Mummy where Evelyn is drunk with O’Connell. He says something along the lines of what are you? She stands up, looks nobly into the distance and declares, “I am a librarian!”
I’m not a librarian. At least, according to the library director, you can’t technically call yourself a librarian unless you have a degree in library science. I have that pesky degree in journalism that’s collecting dust. So what am I?
“I am a cataloger!”
Yep, cataloging books. Wonderful, wonderful books. And probably so horrible ones too. And you know, the usual stuff you find in libraries. Periodicals, DVDs, audiobooks, that sort of thing. Also working the ol’ circulation desk and doing interlibrary loans, which is uber-fun. I’m not joking, I enjoy those. And I’ll be making runs with the guy who does the bookmobile as well. That should be exciting.
This is just my opinion, but I want to point something out to all writers. Well, mostly the writers who are fortunate enough to have their books published in hardbacks.They suck. The majority of people who have a book published in a hardback binding have probably never taken the jacket off and tried to put plastic over it. I almost guarantee you that. It’s hard work, challenging and time consuming. Not all of them are difficult, but a lot of them are. I also want to point out that the people who design covers clearly have never worked in libraries. Some of the writing on those spines is extremely difficult to make out when you’re looking for a particular title. They suck, too. I suppose I shouldn’t complain because I’m drawing a paycheck for this backbreaking hard work. Besides, I get to read all the new books before they get cataloged and jacketed. And frankly, I’m having the time of my life doing it. I always wanted to work in a library, but no one would ever hire me. See, didn’t I tell you—maybe I didn’t—that everything would work out and I’d end up where I’m supposed to be?
Well, I’m sort of there. If freakin’ Bridgit doesn’t straighten up, I’ll never get where I’m supposed to be. She’ll forever plague me until I fix her, no matter how many sky pirates I get to write about.