I can’t seem to figure out what the who is going on around me.
The Kid says that I much less tense but way more crazy than I used to be when I was teaching regularly. (There are them that says I have always taught a bit on the irregular side. Students seem to respond to that.) My days are indeed falling into a regular pattern of meander. This probably will only make sense to a lucky few.
I hadn’t seen my BFF Amanda since before Christmas, so I spent sugar and caffeine time with her earlier this week. Filling her in on what’s been going on sounded like I was pitching a highly unlikely drama to a major network, except that no one would believe the kind of crap that happens to me. It’s nuts.
I attribute a lot of the crazy to my constant battle to self-motivate. I’m mostly pretty good at that, but I do have some moments of panicky idiot tendency. I do not think that’s coffee related it. I think it has a lot do with slipping in to a groove and crawling out covered with my metaphorical and literal dirty laundry.
A good portion of what I do is blather and palaver for somewhere around 20 cents a word. That’s actually pretty good because it’s not hard work and I am still pretty new to the business.
The blessing and the curse of this job is that all of this brain work is forcing me to work around any writer’s block I might have had. The curse is that I’m still getting used to the pace and by the time I finish my paid stuff, I have little energy and brain power to work on my own stuff. Like the novel which still needs editing, and the how to book (acting not procrastinating) and then of course there’s the notes from the characters for the second novel. All of my characters are standing around in my head tapping their toes at me waiting for me to get back to it. This would make a good play if it was a remotely original idea, and yes that kind of thing matters to me.
And in other news, I am pushing to get the stuff out of Steve’s house in the next couple of weeks.
That and the fact that my brain is constantly firing distractions at me and then making my hands stutter when I’m trying to type.
My hands have aphasia.
And other short stories by Richard Bachman