Friday, March 7, 2014

The ADVENTURES of Bob and Steve: Sometimes I Write Books

Bob and Steve: my number one pit crew (aka. the crutches).  I love/hate those guys.  They get to see a whole lot of action.  Most of which involve tripping, slipping and falling over.  If medical companies made a crutch with a kickstand I would SO buy it!  Anyone?  **crickets**

Ahem, anyway...

Bob and Steve McCrutchyPants are in cahoots with my dog on all things nefarious.  I swear they are out to kill me.  I'm already tipsy (sans the alcoholic buzz) so when you add a neurotic dog that can't be more than six inches away from me at any given time, it is a mixture for disaster.  Just this morning, she got in my way.  She dashed between Bob and Steve as we headed out the door to defile the neighbor's lawn.  For the record, she was the one that knocked me over.  I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck so I wouldn't go flying.  She yelped like I'd beaten her to a pulp and then spent the rest of the morning glaring at me as if I had damaged her beauty and it was totally intentional.  Thanks a lot Miss Doggie Pants.

Despite the death threats, I have been surprisingly productive.  I write.  As in, a lot.  I love writing about all different subjects, but I have found that I really enjoy writing for Young Adults.  I've been at it for several years and have completed eight novels.  Most of them are completely craptastic, but I landed on an idea that has overtaken my life by storm.  I love my main character so much... well, we won't go there.  But he is one seriously awesome dude.  The problem is that I never have enough time to write on him.  It's like giving birth to only half of a baby.

But then I broke a bone.

SIDE NOTE: did you know that bones itch when they heal?  Just imagine trying to scratch at a mosquito bite INSIDE your body where you can't get at it.  Irritating?  You have no idea.

Anyway, so now I am laid up.  I have an extra chair and pillow in my office and I spend all day with my foot suspended.  It's pretty awesome.  Instead of grumbling about the frustration of a bum foot, the mountainous pile of laundry, the molding dishes in the sink and that UNNAMABLE smell coming from the bathroom, I wrote a book.  Two actually.  Book one is finished and (as I snigger craftily) I finished book two.  And I LOVE IT.  The story fleshed out so beautifully, setting up perfectly for an explosive book three.

All I had to do was bust a bone.  It's like it was my magical writing muse.

I have five more weeks to heal, but that isn't enough time to edit, outline the next book and start writing on it.  I wonder....  **eyes the other leg**  a second break wouldn't be that bad, would it?

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