Krissie: Num num

Photo on 5-17-13 at 10.54 AM that’s the sound of the Bad Wolf chewing on my liver, like they did with Prometheus when he stole fire from the gods. That painting, Prometheus Bound, scared the shit out of me when I was in first grade and went on a field trip to the Philadelphia Art Museum. That sucker is huge.
But I digress.
I’m so tired and burned out I can barely talk. I finished the book yesterday afternoon with over 8k words that day, then went back and saw I’d written 32,000 words in the last five days. That’s a third of the book (which went way longer than it was supposed to. Contracted for 80-85,000 words, came in close to 95,000 words).
And those 32k words are rough draft. And they need it in today. And I can’t do it.
Plus, I’m supposed to go down to Manchester on Sunday to speak at a library and my back is so screwed up I don’t think I can sit in a car for the two hours down and two hours back. I just want to cry.
Chomp chomp chomp.
Tell me what to do, guys. I did everything I could on this book — sure I took the occasional days off, but basically the sucker took a wrong turn and I had to stop and practically start from the beginning, just as I should have sailed into the end. You can’t control books and what they ask of you. I’m miserable, and I want to enjoy my book, and my sense is it’s really good, but I’m too tense and unhappy and overwhelmed to even guess. And my agent isn’t around to save me.
Waaah!
Oh, and did I mention that I need a hard copy to do revisions, because you need to look at it in a different format to see if it works, and my laser printer decided to give up the ghost? So I have to revise directly on the computer, which is faster but not nearly as thorough, and I won’t get it done today, and
WHIIIIIINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Someone shoot the bad wolf for me. Or at least figure out a way to trap him so he’ll leave me alone. I need my liver.

Krissie: Trapped

Photo on 5-7-13 at 10.09 AM All I do is work, and my spirit and body are protesting. I have a lovely spot, I’m loving my book, but I’m being really brutal on myself and everything is rebelling. TMI information time — I pee slowly. Runs in the family, and it’s worse after the hysterectomy. No problem,it’s just leisurely. So I have a handheld solitaire game in the bathroom. Nowadays when I take a pee break my hands shake when I play solitaire.
Now my hands tend to shake anyway — not sure why. They shake more in times of stress or depending what meds I’m on. In fact, they may shake because of the meds. But this shaking is a lot worse.
And I’m so tired. All the time. I need a break. The weather’s been gorgeous, and I can see it out my window (I’ll take pictures, I promise) and feel the breeze, but I’m still trapped up here.
I gave up for a while, went downstairs, cut and filed my very long fingernails which are one of my genetically gifted pieces of real beauty. They’re long and oval Photo on 5-7-13 at 10.15 AM (that might not be clear because, duh, my hands are shaking). Anyway, those are some seriously fine natural fingernails. Problem is, they’re a bitch to play guitar with. It’s hard to get enough pad at the top of the nail to press down on the strings.
But I digress —
So I went out on the deck and tuned the old Guild guitar and played it. My voice was shit, which is interesting. I can belt out “Columbia the Gem of the Ocean” in faux operatic splendor for the tryouts for Music Man, I could sing my solo nun parts quite nicely. But my country voice is shot to hell. And I couldn’t remember lyrics. Jeesh!
So I gotta find my old music notebook, because the Guild is easier to play than the acoustic or my Martin. And sitting on the deck playing and singing is a very good idea.
But even that wasn’t good enough to make me sane again. It’s Deadline Dementia, and there’s not a damned thing I can do but work my ass off and try not to go insane.
I did start a new shawl (the Amita shawl in soft yellow yarn, compliments of Crusie) while I watched the Voice and lusted after Adam Levine, who I like because of his self-deprecating sense of humor (and his tats). So that started to relax me.
We’re getting days of rain starting on Thursday, which we badly need, but tomorrow is going to be another glorious day. I haven’t had a day off in more than a week, and i really need to get some food in, etc. So I think I will try to rise early and then go shopping. I have to get to the point where I’m ready to soar on through to the end (I’m still revising) and then the long drive (65 miles to Costco) will be great for brainstorming.
I just hate how I tend to make myself sick when I finish a book. It’s not fabulous of me.
Okay, a new goal. How to re-imagine my way of working so I don’t become a little puddle of exhaustion and hurt by the end. How do I control what I can’t control (the girls in the basement?). How do I say no to all the distractions that call my name?
How do I find a little balance in all this?
And don’t I have truly great fingernails?

Jenny: Guilt-Edged Bonds

I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because Lani’s driving me to all my doctor’s appointments even though she’s swamped right now.

I feel guilty that I didn’t put an interview up on Argh today. ┬áLani’s swamped because she’s launching her first Lucy March book, A Little Night Magic (which is out today so you should go buy it right now. ┬áThank you) and I was supposed to do an interview with her and I didn’t get to it. Continue reading