On Monday I posted an invitation to ask me questions. Quite a few of you (12) have sent me some which I will answer next Monday.
As I sit here wallowing in self-pity, I tell myself: it’s temporary.
These depressions I get are a pain in the ass. I have nothing but first world problems.
I read a lot. I suppose most of us who write, or like to write, do the same.
Here’s a thought about that:
Not all reading material we pick up we end up enjoying.
Am I right?
I have come across quite a few blog posts in recent days on this topic. It preoccupies me, but not in the way you might expect. There are always more books you can get your hands on, more reading material. These days, fresh topics are literally within reach of the palm of your hand. A click away.
I think about reading in conjunction with writing. Often, reading something is what inspires me to write something.
But I want to dig a little deeper:
I’ve decided I’m going to build a boat.
Listen. I’m sick of living in this country. The weather sucks here in my corner of 🇨🇦. It’s May 1st for effs sake and we have rain, cold, grey skies and no sign of spring. This has been going on after a BRUTAL, long winter. I’m Fed.Up. So don’t expect some Happy Happy Joy Joy from me in this blog today…
One thing I know about myself is that my personality, my character, even my physical appearance, doesn’t fit into a conventional mold.
I’m a very different entity in terms of societal expectations of how someone like me is supposed to be. I don’t fit the pattern of most middle-aged, teenage-parenting women of today, and frankly, I’m just fine with that.
It wasn’t always like that. I am like this now, or at least I’m learning how to be like this more, nowadays.
I have learned not to give a crap about most things over the years. Also, I’m parenting teens and this alone has reduced my patience for other people’s drama or unsolicited opinions dramatically. 🙃
I came to these realizations early this morning while reading a blog post from a romance author.
Do you want to know how hard it is to write when there are endless familial distractions around you?
Especially if you’re trying to write romantic, sexy scenes?
Maybe writing romantic fiction isn’t in the cards for me after all. 🙄
Today I created a spreadsheet to tally up the words I’ve written so far in the romantic fiction category:
almost 20,000 words
This surprises me. Apparently, I’m a writer. 😉
This is a story my mom told me about our time in Switzerland during the 1970s. The story happened to my sister, although not exactly like this. I put a spin on it since I wasn’t there…I was probably at Kindergarten while she and my baby brother were hanging around with my mom in the apartment.
I remember the apartment building vividly, as well as the parking lot and the sandbox. I also clearly remember that order and cleanliness were very big preoccupations for the Swiss adults during that time.
My protagonist in one of my stories is insecure about her image. You know, appearance, attractiveness, stamina, that kind of thing.
I want to explore how she sees herself, as well as how she perceives how others see her. How men see her in particular (or, more correctly, how she thinks men see her).
I’m trying to address all the usual stuff: weight, shape, fitness, sexuality…all of it.
Sounds convoluted, right?
It is. 🙄