Posts Tagged ‘insanity’

Since October, my vision has been failing drastically. Or maybe it just seems drastic. One day I can read with no assistance and the next, I need glasses. But cheap drugstore glasses aren’t helping with the computer screen. With or without them, my eyes strain on the computer. I’ve tried fiddling with the brightness and contrast and all that jazz, and nothing has worked. Even typing this, I cannot look at the screen.

I had hopes for the new “special” glasses the optometrist said would complete my life. And no, they don’t work, either. So I guess I’ll just rely on my keen sense of hearing to finish my book. (note: I have an affliction called CHS aka Can’t Hear Shit. So, uh, maybe not.)

Though, I once read that if one of your senses is impaired, another one will be stronger to compensate. It’s true. Because now I hear voices.

Whatever I’m doing, I hear myself narrating in my head.

As I’m driving, I hear, “…she slams on her brakes at the black animal in the road. She’s going to save it. Tears pool in her eyes at the heap as she tentatively approaches. “It’s dead!” she screams, then sees it’s just a tire …”

When scrounging for something to eat, I hear, “…she opens the pantry to emptiness. The fridge is bare. Listless, she trudges to bed where she vows to waste away to nothing. If only she weren’t blind, she’d have seen the pantry full, the fridge stocked…”

When I complain to the universe through my blog, I hear, “…they shake their heads, dab their eyes. Poor, poor deaf, dumb and blind Tricia (especially dumb). Maybe I should offer to finish her book for her. Maybe I’ll find her an agent while I’m at it. Must do a query letter …”

You might not be thinking you thought that, but you did. I heard it. Hey, wait I heard that too. Take it back.

“…she watches Spongebob marathons until the 3rd person narrative voices fade away, and soon after, she does as well …”

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The good news is I have a new publication up at Imitation Fruit.

The bad news is I don’t have anything in the queue, nothing forthcoming. And this makes me very nervous. I had been on a roll and I wasn’t finished rolling in it. Since April I had a publishing a month. I didn’t know I had a pattern until recently, but once I did, I didn’t want to break it.

I wonder if I could e-mail all the editors that I have submissions out on and ask if they could accept me on the grounds of I’m neurotic. After all, this is my own personal cosmos of stars and we must keep them in line. How should I word this? Is this too weird of a request? If not, would it be pushy to demand a November publication, even if they had already selected their November contributors?

If you are an editor out there and you need a November slot to fill, look no further than right here. I can write anything. Except quirky, insanity stuff. I can’t write in that mindset, don’t understand it. No siree bob, I’m a straight arrow kinda gal. Calm, cool and collective. That’s me. Don’t worry be happy. Relaxed … ACCEPT ME! NOW! HURRY!

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Cake Disasters

These last two weeks I’ve been busy with a project I’ve been putting off for three years, which is part of the reason I haven’t been writing. I’ve been downloading pictures from my camera cards—all 600 of them—pictures that is. Another casualty of writing full-time.

It all started with my daughter’s 10th birthday. Her birthday was a formal princess/tiara/fancy updos, the whole shebang. Naturally parents want pictures and naturally I promised I would take them. So one thing led to another and I began the selection process, which led to setting up an online Walgreens photo account, which led to my discovering themed borders available, which led to hours upon hours, upon days and now weeks of this photo project. I’m still working on the cropping, rotating, red eye, and I’m actually leading up to the point of this post. I can’t bake a pretty cake to save my life.

First off, I hate to cook. The closest thing to cooking I marginally enjoy is baking: cakes and cookies in particular. But I AM NOT GOOD AT IT.

Exhibit A: This cake we call the Butt Cake for obvious reasons. IMG_3223You can see I tried to repair its implosion with skewers. As you can see, it was not effective. This was my sister’s birthday cake and as I was contemplating running to the store before she got there, she arrived, thus the body language of embarrassment I portray. (No, I didn’t crop my head off to remain mysterious. Most pictures I’ve seen so far of me are of my backside or headless. When I find a suitable photo, I will change my avatar.)

This is what the cake looked like the next year. I went out and bought it. IMG_3860

Exhibit B: My daughter’s birthday cake we call the Insect Cake for obvious reasons. lunapic-125389782443761Don’t worry, this cake was for family eyes only. It was the product of too much batter left over from making cupcakes for her classroom in her birthday honor. I had enough batter to make one layer of a layer cake, and that with the extra cupcakes, I created something frightful and buggy eyed.



Exhibit C: It’s now my husband’s turn for cake disgrace. My being astute to my past failures led me to stay away from making a cake this time. So I made him a cheesecake.

But something bad happened. (What? You’re shocked, you say?)

clear camara 548I was heading over to the stove with the crust, ready to pour the batter in it and bake, and lo-and-behold the crust flew out of the tin and landed right on top of the batter and crumbled into pieces. We call this one Cheesecake Crumble Surprise.

This is why I stick to writing for my creative outlet.

I am not the only person frustrated about their foodie failures. This last photo is of my sister. She spent the better part of the day churning ice cream to feed eleven people. Her hard-worked efforts produced enough ice cream to fill a Baskin Robbin kiddie cup. As you can see, she is disappointed.IMG_3741

These are just a few of my kitchen failures. None of the others was captured on film—thank God. I have a reputation. Family members expect me to deliver the same results each time. They put in their orders months ahead of time. It’s tough living up to these expectations.

Is there a bit of you that is so bad you could have a cult following, a B movie made in honor of it?

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Part of devoting your life to writing a novel is shutting yourself away from the world, living in your own world.  Now I think I’ve lived in my own world long enough; because now I’m paranoid. And here’s how I know: I think “they” are out to get me. (Don’t ask who “they” are.)

“They” are the forces that keep me from reaching goals: from full-on tackling my revisions so that I can query agents, from entering contests, from …

Linda and I were talking yesterday about self-sabotage, and how we are both guilty of it. I think on my end I spend hours online doing anything but revising. I blog. I visit other blogs. I visit agent blogs (my biggest time sucker). I comment on agent blogs. I enter more silly contests than serious.  I join online clubs, groups, forums, critique sites, community writing sites, book reviews, ….

Then when I do take myself seriously it backfires. “I’m sorry,” says the voice on the other end of the phone, “but your submission to the essay contest you entered in May just came to us in July. The post office didn’t even apologize for hanging on to yours and eight others. I did read it though and I loved it. If you haven’t published it by our next contest please submit again. It was very lovely …”

On another contest, I needed a combined score of 300 points to qualify for finals. I got 298.

And only since I took writing seriously did the publishing world slide. I think a lot of writers are freaking on that one.

So when feedblitz sends me a new email with “more query do’s and don’ts” on their subject line, I find myself unable to resist opening, reading, then clicking onto other sites within that site, and finding that maybe I have a problem with addiction. (Admitting it is the first step.)

Here is where paranoia steps in. Could it be that agents are in on it? Could they tempt me and others online for hours to keep us from writing so they have fewer queries to field? Could it be the publishing houses are simply not taking on debut authors anymore and agents just don’t have the heart to tell us for fear of a mass suicide world-wide? “Keep em busy until the market picks up again.” They say to each other.

They invented Twitter! They invented all the distractions!

“They” are out to get me.

It’s a conspiracy. I won’t put up with it. I won’t.  Crouching in corner, perspiring, laughing evilly. I won’t, I tell you. Muhahahahah …

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