I'm cranky. I'll admit, this is not an unusual state for me, but lately I've been feeling more crotchety than usual. Partly it's the season—the holidays are coming up and pretty soon I won't be able to buy a pint of milk without being assaulted by cheesy music. Yes, I'm a Grinch. Bite me.
Then there is NaNoWriMo. I know I should be cheering on the brave souls participating in this madness, but when someone posts about the gajillion words they just finished, on one single day, I start seething with petty jealousy. Because I write painfully slow. It's embarrassing. Worst is when someone posts they wrote "only" X number of words, and it's a number twice my daily goal. It's like the skinny chick in the office complaining how fat she is. I'm sure Miss Manners would not approve.
The problem is, I need something to be pumped up about or I sink into a funk—like sharks need to keep swimming to breathe. I'm an excitement shark. Unfortunately, right now I'm in a dead zone. My last release was seems like forever ago and there's still a month till the next one. Okay, a little less than a month.
I'm working on a book and that should make me happy, right? Ha! In an interview with Josh Lanyon Astrid Amara gave this reply when asked what she loved about writing:
"I love the finished product, two months later, when I have a chance to re-read my work and go, ok, that’s what I wanted to read. Before that I hate the whole thing. I hate sitting down and writing. I hate difficult plotting problems. I hate middles. Deadlines stress me and without them I do nothing. And when I’m working on a project every page I read is the worst drivel I’ve ever come across."
Well, that's pretty much how I feel. At least I'm not the only one. I'm surprised and relieved every time I manage to finish a book.
Oh yeah, and I changed my internet to Uverse and now keep loosing connection. Farking AT&T.
A'ight, I'm done kvetching. Back to editing.