I am close, so close, to 100.
Diet Coke no longer working.
Pages will be delivered on the alcohol-soaked wings of a Grey Goose.
Day four, and I need to improve my posture. Hours slaving at the keyboard will leave me with a dowager’s hump. Twenty pages a day, and I’m still on track. How long can I keep up this manic pace? I don’t know. My feeble mind might crack under the pressure.
Since someone asked, this is one hundred pages on the same work. Not on several different works. Because I want to be done with Lightworld/Darkworld for now. The end is in sight, and I’m racing toward it.
I will take the weekend off, and maybe do another hundred pages next week.
Maybe I will write twenty pages a day, forever. And become the most prolific author of all times, next to the sophisticated android that replaced Nora Roberts in the late 80’s.
Oh yes, I will become Troutbot XG-9, and I will travel the galaxies, spewing stories from my internal word processor, and maybe, just maybe I will finally learn to crochet.
Here I am, on day 3 of my “100 pages in five days” challenge.
Last night, I couldn’t get to sleep. I’d done my twenty pages, but I wanted to do more. My mind was racing, planning out what would happen next. I had the entire end of the book plotted out. It was brilliant.
Then, I fell asleep. I lost the drive. But there are still twenty pages to go today.
You asked me your questions… okay, seven of you asked me your questions. But the seven of you asked a lot of questions, so here I am to fulfill your burning curiosity. Without further ado:
One of my eyes just kind of spontaneously falling out, but still being attached by a thread of nerves is runner up to the elevator fear. I knew this guy whose eye fell out from a pretty bad injury, but he was still conscious and the eye could still see, so he said he could see straight ahead out of one eye and down at the floor with the other. I never want to experience this.
If It has to be someone real, alive or dead, I would trade places with Dracula and if you try to tell me he’s not real I will give you a charlie horse you will never forget.
You know when a larger excerpt or blurb will be going up? Excerpts and blurbs are done at the discretion of the publisher, but let me see if I can get the go-ahead to put up my back cover copy yet. As soon as I am given permission to do so, you’ll see it here first.
As for my own nickers, “usually clean” is a good descriptor of both them and myself, so, so far, so good.
Henry asks if it’s cool to call me J-Arm, like J-Lo, and I think this is a fine idea. Shame on everyone else for not thinking of it first. Anyway, Henry asks:
I got a lot of flack for Carrie’s indecision from readers. People who were like, “Ugh, she should make up her mind already!” But really, how often do people make up their minds in real life very quickly and without a second thought? Especially if complications arise in the process?
As for whether or not it was autobiographical, no, I’m not into complicated. That’s not to say that some of my relationships with people haven’t had complications, but I just cannot handle the day to day drama in a romantic relationship. Which is why I can never leave my husband, because we’re both non-drama people.
Basically, I try to get ten pages out on my WIP per day. If I can do that, I’m happy.
Also, if someone sends me a note about why they disliked my book, I usually email them back. I get some of the craziest things, like people emailing me to tell me that my books aren’t as good as some other writer’s books and here is what they didn’t like. I usually respond to those people to tell them to send email to the authors they do like and to leave me the hell alone.
Well, that was quite the exercise in answering stuff. Now, my fingers are tired, my brain is dead, and I have the dumb. Hope your questions were well and fully answered, and if you have more, we might have to do this again some time!
Well, the holidays. WTF were they about. Weeks of preparation, and suddenly, BAM they’re over. I feel like a prom dress, worn briefly and discarded on the Motel Six floor. It’s not even the Honeymoon Suite, for God’s sake.
So, things should be back to normal ’round these parts. In celebration of such, if you’re still reading, if you’re still out there, now is your chance to ask me anything. Anything at all. I doesn’t even have to be writing related. This is a standing offer to all people who listen to my podcast, but not everyone does, so I thought I would open the floor, just this once, to the folk who have always wanted to know what color my underpants are. Answers will be compiled in my next blog post, so don’t let me down. I don’t want to have to think of another idea for my next post.
So, I’m at Dino’s Lounge in Kalamazoo right now. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. They have beer now. Who the hell wants a beer at eight in the morning?
Well, this morning, I do.
Anyway, I’m doing the take Jen Jr. v1.0 to school and then go to the coffee shop thing again. Yeah, I know, that’s all supposed to be hyphenated. But I’m not doing it, because I’m too tired and my coffee hasn’t reached my heart yet.
Why am I running away from home, you ask? Because my husband has left his job in order to be a full time house husband, which means that in order for me to get anything done, I have to flee my home. So, here I am, at the coffee shop again.
What was the point of this entry? Oh, right. Coffee gun. So, the guy was getting me my coffee out of one of those thermal carafe things that you have to pump, and he goes, “I hate this one, it has no pressure, so it takes forever to get anything out of it. The other one is like a gun, but this one sucks.” And it got me to thinking… how awesome would it be to have a coffee gun? Like, you could just get out of bed and shoot yourself in the face with it and be good to go.
Sigh. I think this chair is going to break right underneath me, and the spot I picked to sit in, in hindsight, is not so great, because this tree/plant/fern thing keeps picking at my hair.
It’s going to be a long morning.
If I said, “big, sloppy pile of eggs and cheese,” would that phrase excite you? If so, you have come to the right blog, dear readers.
I am going to share my recipe for the single greatest breakfast scramble of all time. It’s a bastardized version of the “Pig In The Garden” scramble from Food Dance in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Their dish is much better, because it’s made from all these ingredients that have fancy names and also, I think they put scallions in them. But if you can’t get to Kalamzoo, Michigan, and you settle for my version, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Here is what you’ll need:
Okay, what you’re going to do is just lightly sweat the mushrooms in the butter over low to medium heat. You’re not going for a full saute, here. Just get them a little wet looking, like they’re starting to cook, but haven’t achieved full, translucent brownness. Then, add the tomatoes, giving them a little squeeze, just to bruise them up a little as you toss them in, but don’t crush them. Yup, you leave them whole. Don’t worry, it all works out. Immediately pour on the eggs and scramble, scramble as though your life depends upon it (if you haven’t upped to medium heat yet, take the plunge right now, so your eggs will cook). When the eggs have achieved their desired level of done-ness, throw in the bacon pieces and the cheese. Fold them in and let the cheese melt. Then, plate and eat the hell out of that big, sloppy pile of eggs and cheese. Goes well with toast.