Deadline LOOMS. Plus, The Secret Art of Forgetting Part II
Um, how the hell is it already AUGUST? And where did the first half of this freakin’ week go?
I told myself at the start of this year that I would have the first draft of a novel completed by September 30th. And to give me some credit, I’m about halfway there. It’s not ANY GOOD. But that wasn’t part of the deal. I just had to write it. Good, bad or indifferent. Show up at the laptop and write, and have your first cut finished by October. That was the deal. I could worry about how much it sucked later.
So I’ve revised my outline today and come to the sad realization that I have to write approximately 1000 words a day for the next 58 days to get this sucker done.
OMG I am so fucked. In what crazy-ass, not-this-one reality is that going to happen? And sorry, what? I have to work my fulltime job for about 51 of those days? Oh. Okay. It’s probably possible. If I type at 246 WORDS PER MINUTE.
*cannot type 246 wpm, sighs*
So something good happened on the overpass right before the Banana Freeway today. I was at the lights, inhaling a chocolate donut with a V chaser, and I got the Loin Butterflies over the biker in the next lane. For about a whole three seconds.
This guy was built, you know. That perfectly shaped accessory for a Kawasaki. I wanted to bite him right between the back of his immaculately square shoulders. And OMG those jeans. Those bootcut distressed denim jeans were advertising in FULL COLOUR aaaaaalllll the way down to the heel of his scuffed biker boots. He was bouncing his toe around on the pedal, knee jiggling while he straightened and tugged on the bottom of his gloves.
It was a spectacular pervefest for three long, beautiful seconds.
And then I wanted to hurl my donut up into my lap. But still, it’s progress, right? For four whole months I haven’t been able to think anything about motorcyclists other than ‘Please retain your legs’ and ‘I may puke unexpectedly’. I thought the God given right to mentally undress bikers hunched over horsepower at traffic lights was lost to me forever.
But it’s coming back.
*waves madly, welcomes it back, and will be patient*
Also?
*wishes peaceable things to fence/bike guy’s family* I know you can't have back what you lost, and that still makes me ache.
It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow. I haven’t posted anything. Anyone know a florist that can outrun a guilt trip?