Thanks to everyone who threatened to beat people who are mean to me. You guys are the best. I would do the same for you. I'm very good at standing around looking threatening--for a 5'5" blonde. Just say the word, I'm there.
I couldn't concentrate at the library, not with my laptop doing updates and making YouTube skip, not with a couple of guys making noise by the magazine section and looking my way now and then. Like what, you never seen anyone sitting in a chair typing, dude? Okay, maybe typing isn't the key word here. It was more like muttering under my breath as OpenOffice repeatedly popped up the message OpenOffice Not Responding because I was also trying to uninstall Skype because Java or something kept popping up a message that Skype was failing to run. I had it turned off, how can something that's not even on fail to run? Computers, right?
|I'm pretty sure this dude's coat is made out of a|
mattress. Cheers to me because I haven't sunk so
low as to start making clothes out of old beds. Yet.
So needless to say, I wasn't accomplishing anything except fueling my frustration. Because I also couldn't find the template for the certificate paper I bought at Staples. Thank you, useless paper manufacturing website. You're on my shit list too.
My characters weren't playing and I was secretly wondering if I shouldn't just leave my computer in my car with the windows down for any merry thief to find (steal the car too, buddy. Keys are in it. It's a two-fer.)
My husband called and we went to see a movie. Rock of Ages. Hilarious in spite of all the singing. At least it had an awesome soundtrack.
Yesterday we went grocery shopping. It was insanely hot, which only makes me mad cranky, but I reined in my evil side thanks to a fairly decent breeze and thank you, God for giving us a basement where it's naturally cool. No, we still haven't turned the AC on in the house. Here it is end of June and we're using fans and open windows. We're greening up the . . . okay, we just don't want to pay insane electric bills. Husband and I holed up in the basement, computers on laps and I raced madly through four hours trying to play catch up for Camp NaNo. I was only down a little over 6,000 words.
Piece of cake, right? Well . . . once I got to blow something up. I'd been itching to blow something up and make someone bleed for a while. I was pretty close to gleeful after that even without coffee liquor. Dear God, please don't let someone find my blog by typing 'blow something up' into Google. If I think I'm bug-sh!t now, I'm sure my frame of mind will be beyond bonkers after the FBI gets through with me.
By 10:00 p.m. I was even a little over yesterday's count which put me at over half-finished for NaNo and over half finished for my own goal of 80k.
I don't feel like editing The Sky Pirate's Wife right now. I just want to get rough, rough, rough draft of The Turncoat's Temptress done.
Thank you, guy who invented NaNoWriMo. I already forgot your name. It was Chris something-or-other. You reminded me that I love to write and for that, you have my eternal thanks. I can't offer you any money, but really, that'd be kind of like me paying you for therapy or services rendered and that might sully what we have. Which is . . . okay, we don't have anything because chances are you've never heard of me and I can't remember your name and I'm waaaay too lazy to go look.
And thank you, Basil, for allowing me to write about blowing up your house and letting me stick you with shards of glass. That really made my evening. I didn't even mind stopping to do laundry because of that.
When in doubt, torture your characters. ;)