Friday, January 9, 2009

The witching hour

So, it's late...quiet...and I'm too tired to be up writing. Yet, here I am, knowing I will regret it tomorrow when my son doesn't let me sleep in.

It's just a quick note, really, at the end of a long day.

So many strange things pop in and out of my head...especially when I'm on a writing bender: too much in a short amount of time makes you heady, and it wears you out.

But, I'm sort of loving the fact that writing a blog like this one forces me to take a look at the world around me a bit more closely. Everything is up for scrutiny. Because everything is a potential sentence.

Today's observations and flits of the imagination:

1) Listening to the "modern rock inbox", I found a new band to add to my list of current intrigues:

2) Buying a cart load of junk food at 8 a.m. elicits concerned and appalled stares from other shoppers (in particular, those who are standing behind you in the "15 items or less" line with irritated looks that say, "Whaddya have in there, like 50 items?"; but they neglect to realize that this is the only line open at 8 a.m. when the store is virtually empty).

3) I have too many books in my "current reading" pile. If it falls over, it may well bury one of the cats. I just added "Tales of a Slacker Wife" and "Boys: Women Writers on Raising Sons". Not enough damned time in a day!

4) That new gel-coating varnish flouride the dentist paints on your teeth is disgusting. Not that it's saying much, but I like the gross, squishy foam stuff better. At least I don't have to spend 2 days trying to scrape it off my teeth.

5) Listening to young children read their own poetry out loud makes me wish I had their eyes: check out NWP's Rural Voices Radio.

6) I'm adding the word "opulent" to the word wall.

7) Writers are the world's top procrastinators: none of my writers workshop students were ready to submit to Tidepools today. We had to scramble to get parent signatures on entry forms, print final copies, and come up with bite-sized biographies to attach to them. Funny enough, when I got to the post office to send them, the line was too long and I was more interested in getting to Wine on the Waterfront for a tasty I opted to put it off for yet one more day. The post office is open til 2 pm tomorrow; so I guess I'll be a true procrastinator and put it off until the absolute 11th hour. I'm sure I'll see a few of my discombobulated brethren of the pen tomorrow in line (as I do every year - in sweats with fly-away hair, coffee-stained shirts, and fingernails bitten to the nubs for easier and faster typing), desperately hoping to get those damned envelopes post-marked in time. Deadlines = The only reason anything ever gets published. Believe me, almost everything we read is simply a rough draft ripped out of the death-grip of some writer mumbling, "Just one more look-see...just one more proof-reading glance..." or "I think it still needs some work" or "It's invisible ink; I really HAVE been writing...I'm not putting it off...those blank pages are the greatest novel ever written, you just need lemon juice to read it...and, damn, I'm out."

Sweet dreams are made of these.

Good night y'all...

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