A friend called here yesterday -- I'll call her Kista -- and we visited, which we don't get to do very often. In the longish rather convoluted conversation, she started asking me about the novel, which she'd heard a bit about the last time we talked. Turns out that Kista has a good friend-- "Beatrice" -- who's published and getting six figure advances for her books. Beatrice told Kista that if Kista ever came across something in the same genre as Beatrice's own books that Kista liked well enough, then Beatrice would take it to her own agent to help out; apparently, Kista's either done enough favors for Beatrice or Beatrice just admires Kista's tastes, I don't know, but Kista then told me she wants to refer my book.
Kista asked me how far along the novel had progressed.
So of course, because I don't want to feel any pressure, because I don't want to write to an artificial deadline, I do the right thing, right? I say, "oh, at least a year," because I just got back into writing, and really, there's the writing and then the rewriting and then the polishing and I know this, I do, I have been down this road too many times, and lo, just as I open my mouth, there is an out-of-body experience and Skippy, my-evil-twin takes over (I know it's Skippy, it couldn't possibly be me because I am not a masochist and do not have a death wish), and then Skippy will smile oh-so-evilly-sweetly and sound JUST LIKE ME even though it's not me and she'll say, "Oh, gosh, I'm nearly finished. Just a couple of chapters and a bit of polishing and I'm done." And then there is a very ugly smackdown session going on where I'm fighting Skippy for my brain back and by that time, the other person usually says, "Really? Great! I'll expect to see it in a couple of months then," and Skippy looks over at me with her vicious brain eating grin and snarks, "muuuaaahhaaa" and my brain melts.
Somehow in the middle of that smackdown session this time, I got a little control back and tried to be a bit vague with, "Oh, but I'm giving myself until past Christmas -- I've got so many projects to do for the business, I want to be reasonable," and Skippy's trying to take back over and offer that August is so TOO reasonable, but I knock her down and threaten her with complete chocolate deprivation and she goes and sulks in a corner, plotting her next revenge. Meanwhile, I did manage to mention to Kista that it would be after Christmas (at least; I'm pretty sure I threw and "at least" in there) and she very nicely said, "Well, I'm not going anywhere and neither is Beatrice, so don't worry. Whenever you get ready, that's fine."
And lo, I was relieved. But I guess that means I had better get busy writing, huh?
I am finished painting all of Carl's office and most of the stuff for mine. I probably have one or maybe two more days and then everything is done and I won't let Carl start anything else for a while. Although he is now mentioning how he could build me a much much nicer credenza with places for the computer and printer built in, vs the too-big box-like shelf-thing I have now, which takes up too much room. I am trying not to be enticed, because I would have to paint (or stain) it, too. It's way too easy to substitute household projects for writing because of the instant gratification.
You know the story, "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie..." he's going to want a glass of milk. Well, if you give us a little project, it's just going to keep growing, because when we get one thing prepped, it just makes sense to go ahead and do the area next to it. Especially if it's raining and raining and raining and there's nothing for the workers to do and we hate for them not to make some hours for an entire week.
So. I have finished all of the painting for Carl's new office. He has finished the staining of the hand railing, which should go up today or tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am getting DOORS!!! in my office. My office used to be the formal dining room, which we immediately converted to office space prior to moving in by building in wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a door from the office to the kitchen, which usually stayed open because it was a solid door and the first thing everyone did when they walked into the house was open it to see if I was in the office. Plus, I just hated not being able to see if someone was walking up to that door -- particularly if I was writing -- I would jump, startled, every time they yanked the door open. On the other side of the room is an open double-door-sized archway into the foyer. No doors, and all of the noise from the living room (TV, guests, etc.) barrelled into my office, almost as if the acoustics of the house intended to deafen anyone in the then-dining room. Carl was so happy about his office, and the first time he sat in there and was able to shut his door to close out the sound / traffic, he realized what I had been dealing with and said, "We're doing your doors next." I thought "next" meant way later, like next month, because we are both a little tired and we really ought to be getting back to the normal construction work, but Mother Nature has been dumping the entire Gulf on us for the whole week, so nothing else could be done anyway. As of last night, I have French doors in both places in the office. I am knocking off the fuzzies / burrs in the wood with steel wool and I'll be painting all day. (And while Carl was at it, that whole give a mouse a cookie thing... he is finishing out the molding in the foyer.) All of the trim is white in our house, which started not because I am a white-trim fiend, but because the original builder of this house used white-primed MDF wood for a lot of the molding. I love natural woods, and one day, if we ever do build, I would love to have all of the moldings and built-ins made from fabulous woods, like cherry or walnut.
I promise there will be photos soon. I do have before photos of the office, so there will be before / after. The only "before" photo I have of Carl's office is prior to us moving in, but you'd be able to see the boring color and lack of molding and then I think the change is very nice.
I woke up this morning from some sort of stupid evil dream in which I was a Muskateer, and I was the Chris O'Donnel version of D'Artagnan, some sort of frilly curly-headed frou frou version. And whatever fight was breaking out, they kept taking away my sword and telling me I couldn't fight. It was extremely annoying, seeing how I was a FAR BETTER swordsman than all three of them combined, and I finally just grabbed one and started fighting and was WINNING when I woke up. Then realized I woke up an hour late because in the effort to do something in the new office yesterday, we had to turn off the electricity in that part of the house and even though I re-set the clock, I inadvertently forgot to put it on the correct "a.m." mode. There were phone messages from annoying business people and things to do and no time to relax when everyone (Carl, workers) invaded here because it rained and three billion of them tramped in and out and in and out and in and out and I would KILL right now for the doors to my office to be up soon and today I requested LOCKS for the doors. With a guillotine prepped for the offenders. Top that off with me going to my SUPER SECRET STASH of frozen chocolate bars, the ones I haven't touched in FOREVER because it is for EMERGENCY USES ONLY and if wanting to maim, torture and kill one's own family before 10:00 a.m. isn't an emergency, I don't know what is, and so I go to this emergency stash, the one no one should have been able to find, the one where there were SIX of said chocolate bars all in one wrapped boxed sleeve and not only was the wrapper open... ALL SIX OF THE CANDY BARS WERE GONE. Gone. The empty wrapper left in the freezer like some skeletal remains thrown aside by the Tasmanian Devil on his breezy way through my freezer, and did my sons admit said offense and beg for forgiveness and lie prostrate because they knew their life was over as they knew it? No, no they did not. They laughed. They ran, of course, and dodged out of the house, but they laughed when I threatened them with bazooka fire. I sense they do not take me seriously. hmph.
I may be a tad crabby.
Most of the painting is done in the new office, including all of the wainscoating and the doors. I have a little more of the trim to finish up, a few touch-ups on the area around the entrance door frame and I'm done. We've moved in Carl's desk and the treadmill and I have a minor amount of purge work to do to finish organizing the closet with the files. We've stained the handrail that goes across the top of the wainscoating, and that'll take another day to dry, then two coats of varnish and it can be installed, probably around Thursday.
I just added back in a phone line... the same line Carl insisted we weren't using last month enough to justify having it, so why pay the extra expense. So I get to pay $41 to install the line that we already had. He is properly chagrined. I would like to say I resisted saying, "I told you so," because I am a very mature person who doesn't stoop to being snarky, but I would be lying. I did resist saying, "Nanny nanny boo boo," which was an accomplishment, I think.
For a minor project which turned major by Carl adding and adding, we've still gotten it done pretty quickly, I think. Although my muscles are protesting that assertion. The upside to this, aside from being able to move all of his files to his room and freeing up my office (and WOW, already it feels so much freer, less stressful, I had no idea)... is that he's so pleased with how his office looks, that he's motivated to do the rest of the back of the house. That will mean a lot of work over the next few months, but when it's finished, it's done and no more household remodeling to do unless we completely lose our minds and do a gutting of the kitchen and remodel from the ground up. Which we both sort of want to do, but the expense alone will probably keep that from happening.
I'm off to finish purging and painting. I'm sorry not to have more relevant topics to discuss here, like the state of the world or politics or critical issues... I think that's why I sort of like painting and doing household projects -- I am on mental vacation during the process. Maybe I'll post something really provacative tomorrow about my perspective on raising kids -- a controversial perspective, I suspect, which will probably alarm quite a few people. (Now, aren't you just curious about that?)
I painted until 11p.m. last night and this morning, my calves and feet and arms decided not to work. They formed a union, are protesting loudly and painfully, and I think they are recruiting my back and neck. I have one more full day of painting and the room will be done, though, so I'm headed off to do it now. Assuming I live.
Have you ever watched someone in business who just brags and brags about how great they are, how much money they make, how they've got their client wrapped around their little fingers and the client is a cash cow and wouldn't know a good job if they saw one? And you wish the client would figure it out, would figure out you could do a much better job, but life rarely works out like that? We've been dealing with a guy who fits the above description, who has a corner on a market that's directly related to what we do. We would have liked to have taken some business away from him, but it looked as if he had that market pretty well sewed up. However, he has a nasty habit of not finishing jobs in a timely way, not doing the jobs right to start with, and dragging around paying people even though it is clear (from the way he lives / purchases he makes) that he has plenty of money.
We just did a job for him for which all of the above applies. And lo and behold, his client called us today to ask Carl a few questions about the quality of something the guy was doing, and it turned out that what the guy was doing was completely wrong. Wrong enough to ruin the entire job and require everything to be ripped out and re-done. We had done concrete work (a sub-contract part of the bigger job) and the client didn't realize that we also did all the work that this other guy's been doing. And the client said, "Wow. I wish I had gotten you to do this job for us." Because he was very happy with the part we had done. And he went on to say, "I want you to bid the next stuff we do -- maybe we can work you year-round, the way we've been working __[other guy]" and Carl gave him a lot of information about us (good EMR record -- that's your insurance rating, long-term safety record, great references, etc.)
I don't know for certain if we'll get all of that guy's work, but we'll get some of it, which is very lucrative. Karma's amazing, isn't it.
Carl came in earlier today from an errand, and our dog, DeeOhGee, came bounding in with him, smiling from ear-to-ear and wagging her tail with extreme delight.
Carl: We just went for a ride. DeeOhGee loves riding.
Me: I know. I take her for rides all the time.
Carl: Well, she likes riding with me best.
Me: That's ridiculous. She loves riding, period.
Carl: Yeah, but I let her drive. She did pretty well until the squirrel ran across the road and then she wanted to plunge the car after it, but I talked her down. Tomorrow, she's going to learn how to parallel park.
Me: Just exactly what is in those new vitamins again?
I have been humoring, mollifying and begging the old computer to work for way longer than anyone familiar with computers would have deemed feasible, and for the last few months, it had been freezing up on me, forcing me to completely re-boot (and watch the blue screen of death as it scanned the disk and admonished me to not turn it off without properly shutting it down... and boy, I would have liked to have properly shut down whoever came up with that helpful little bon mot, particularly when the computer had frozen up for the third time in one busy deadline hellish day). Anyway. It had been freezing and mocking me, laughing and then rebooting (and occasionally taking two or three attempts to re-boot, depending on it it was PMSing or not)... and finally, I decided that it just wasn't worth the hassle. I hate buying a new computer because as soon as you do, it's nearly obsolete, which just galls me. Then I realized I had had this one since 1997. Yes, in computer years, that meant it was 3,458,345 years old and even I realize computers aren't meant to be pushed that far. I had upgraded the innards various times, so it was a P4, but a slow, sluggish one. There was some sort of RAM, probably the pre-historic Brontosaurus version of RAM with it's spastic little legs that couldn't do much (and were apparently fictional anyway), and there was more than the old standard of 128, but I honestly can't remember if it was more than 256. I had also added a CD burner, also so old it was persnickety and slow.
I found a new one online, discovered that I could apply some American Express reward points toward it and greatly reduce the price and get most of the bells and whistles I wanted for a reasonable amount. The new computer came in yesterday and was so easy to assemble and connect and absolutely everything was already on there and ready to go, I was floored. I put my new cordless mouse (from the old computer) on there, fully expecting to have to load the drivers, and voila, they were already there. How cool is that?
(You Mac people? Hush.)
I had been spending the last couple of days burning all of the relevant and necessary data onto CDs for transfer and had gotten everything of any real importance (all work data, all writing, all accounting, all family stuff like photos, etc.) when the old computer froze up again. Not a big deal, it's been doing this for nearly two years. I turn it off, re-boot it (because we're still going to use it in the new / under-construction spare offcie)... and it won't reboot. It'll go into "Safe Mode" (and is there anything that makes you feel less safe about computers than a greyish fuzzy screen with half of your icons missing that warns you that something is indescribeably wrong with your computer, so wrong that it's sort of half dead and it's going to think about whether or not it's going to die while you try to magically discern if it can be saved? It's kinda like asking a neurologist to fix your brain tumor while not allowing him anywhere near your head.) So anyway, "Safe Mode." Which it usually just did at least once or twice to annoy me, but this time, apparently it was seriously comtemplating suicide (I think it's just pissy because I don't have to give in to its tantrums any longer) and now it really won't re-boot. The very day I have a new computer and have everything actually loaded? I am not usually this lucky. I should buy lottery tickets this week.
The cat, however, is very NOT PLEASED with this whole flat-screen monitor thing. She spends most of her exhausting, difficult, hard-working days holding down her basket or holding down the monitor, in case it should have a sudden urge to drift skyward. She had become quite expert at draping herself across the entire thing, strategically placing her tail down the center of the screen at critical moments just so I could appreciate her strenuous labor. When I set up the new monitor, she walked up to it, walked behind it and stood, her little paws on the top of it, her little eyes peering over at me like, "Who said you could put my lounge chair on a DIET?" She walked around to the side and looked at the front... then the back... then the front again, as if trying to measure and see if she'd still fit. And let me just say right now that this cat takes after me in the math department, because she decided that her size FAT ass would fit on the new ultra-thin top, and she jumped.... going over and then down the back, with nary a thing to clutch onto and whoosh, over the rest of the desk and Wile. E. Coyoteed herself clean onto the floor. She waited a couple of hours and sat in front of the monitor and stared at it, moving her head as if assessing all the corners (they were still there) and the width (definitely bigger) and decided apparently that the first attempt was merely a bad joke and jumping from the front would be so much better, only she pushed off her normal amount and went clean over it again and whoosh, landed on the floor. She promptly walked around the desk and glared at me with a venomous stare. I am pretty sure she is hatching a revenge plot even as I write this.
I wonder if it would have been easier just to put everything inside the house outside and start over? Carl decided that while we were at it, we might as well get the heavy stuff we no longer need out of the attic and get rid of it. The old files (old vendors, old canceled checks, etc.) were heavy and it's been bothering him. So let's see the scorecard so far:
1. Spare bedroom completely gutted...... check.
2. Living room and dining room filled with spare bedroom stuff....... check.
3. Three trillion files from the attic now sitting in the carport...... check.
4. Multiple levels of construction going on disturbing the neighbors...... check.
5. Hate mail and assassination plans being hatched by the trash people at this moment...... check.
And the day is only half-done. Imagine the world chaos we could cause in a week.
If you had told me Friday that today I would be standing in the closet of the spare bedroom painting? I would have suggested you get a better grade of crack. Because we were not going to be doing anything of the kind. It was going to be a relaxing weekend. It was going to be all about sleeping late and checking (and rechecking and re-rechecking) the tracking # to see exactly where the computer was on its way here. (Obsessive? Moi?) This weekend was so very not going to be about organizing.
Except, we moved a couple of things out of my office to make it nicer. And we had this spare bedroom going to waste, becoming a junk catch-all, and Carl really needed a place to put bids together that didn't clog up my office, and the man really deserves his own office (after all, he's only been working 22 years). He never really wanted an office before (he's had 'em and ignored them too often to count, so when we moved to this house, we didn't even bother setting him up a place.) But now... he wants one. Mostly because he wants me to be able to write without having the construction clutter driving me to distraction. Some of it always has to be out and accessible; it never feels finished and put to bed. And it always being out makes me feel like I should be doing that instead of taking a couple of hours to write. So, his solution: move all the construction stuff to his office, keep mine just for writing. I can move back and forth as needed for the actual paperwork part; the phone I can still do from my office.
The summer looks to be calm for me, which is what brought all of this on. I could write, and still have the business stuff done. The second business (the national one with the partner) is still a very real possibility, but we're waiting on him to heal from the open-heart surgery before discussing it / setting up the meetings. And if that does go, I won't be doing that paperwork and the construction business will phase down. In the mean time, we have good work, but not the kind which makes my life a living hell (big Federal jobs, I'm looking at you).
So the innocent moving of a couple of things to the back office spot led to us thinking that gee, we could move all of the office supplies back there if that closet was just cleaned out of the old junk / toys / clothes that don't fit. And we don't need the spare bed anymore (Luke needs it at his apartment and each boy still has a bedroom here, so there's usually one empty if we did have an overnight guest). While we were cleaning out the closet and the bed, we thought, gee, while all of this is gone and before we move anything in here, we might as well paint. So off we went to Home Depot and Lowe's and picked out paint (Sienna) and bought trim (white) paint and then the light fixture really wasn't very good, so we got another one, and all of this moving stuff up to the attic meant we needed to get scads of old stored paperwork down and shred it, so we got a new industrial sized paper shredder and since Carl's going to be in the office more, we needed a better phone system in there, so we got a new phone system thingie and then we finished gutting the bedroom and I painted the inside of the closet (two coats!! who knew a tiny closet would take an entire gallon of paint!!) and Carl painted the ceiling and the crown molding... and while we were talking about it, Carl decided that we might as well go ahead and finish trimming out that room to match the molding we've been putting up throughout the house (there was none, we've been adding it to the rooms as we go -- a Craftsman styled framing for the doors and windows, deep baseboards and big crown molding)... and then, while he was at it, he might as well go ahead and put up a raised panel wainscoating because he has always wanted to do that and this is his office after all so he should go ahead while it is empty and...
See? If you had told me I would be painting today, I woudl have known you were on crack because what usually happens is that we start talking about doing something and the damned thing grows so big in our discussion, we know we can't tackle it in a weekend and we talk ourselves out of it. Except, every once in a while, neither of us has a lick of sense and we both nod and say, "Sure!" and go for it and then there is a huge huge huge project which is going to suck up every spare minute for the next week or so until it is done or I kill someone.
If we manage to finish it without maimage or murder happening, it will be very nice. And it will mean that all of the construction stuff is out of my space and into his, which will be wonderful.
But right now? Right now, everything that used to be in that room is all over the place. I had no idea that I had enough stuff in that one room to single-handedly furnish an entire third world country and clothe them all to boot. Damn, it's a lot of junk. So there is a give-away stack (for charity), a very small "keep in the room" stack, and a medium-sized "attic" stack (which still cannot go up there until I get the stuff up there culled through)(yikes).
So when you're finished with that crack, send me some. I'm going to need it.
I think today turned out to be one of the best birthdays I've had in a long, long time. From as early as I can remember, I have been a big birthday freak, wanting to savor every minute. My Mom tells the story about how, when I was seven-and-a-half, I could not wait until my eighth birthday. I brought it up constantly, asking how much longer would it be. When it got to be about two months before the actual birthday, I increased the questioning to daily, and then two or three times a day and FINALLY I was eight years old. Mom said that the next day, I started saying I couldn't wait until I turned nine. (I think she wanted to smack me right about that moment.)
Every April, I would also start saying I was the next year up in age (a good two months before the actual date). My Dad used to tease me, saying that when I turned 30, he knew I would no longer be doing that... and he was wrong. I still do it, even this year.
You might think from the crazy birthday lust that it was caused by much spoilage and great parties and lavish presents, and you'd be wrong. I think there may have been one or two parties as a kid, and over the years, there have been a few nice presents, but mostly it's phone calls and cards. It's mostly just this... joy I have about another milestone. I stay up the night of my birthday until 12:00 a.m. rolls around to celebrate the start of my day and then I usually try to arrange to sleep late, laze about and do nothing much. Sometimes the day is all about curling up with a much anticipated novel (particularly if Carl is out of town for that day), sometimes it's spent watching a string of favorite movies and sometimes it's wonderfully simple, like hanging out with Carl all day, eating lunch, checking out various things we'd intended to check out and never really made time for, shopping for some needed item and, tonight, going to a play (quite good). Today had an added bonus of us hearing from a brand spanking new client in the middle of the day and learning we'd just landed that job -- a real plus because this is a new niche for us and potentially a lot of future work. We had a terrific lunch at an old favorite restaurant I hadn't been to in a while (the Chimes, still serving some of their best etouffee). There were flowers from the kids, e-mails and phone calls from family and friends, and lots of laughter as Carl and I had a wonderful day. (We picked out a new office chair which Carl will pick up Monday.)
Here I am, per tradition, at midnight again, watching the clock tick away my day. The world moves on, with big events (Regan's funeral and burial) and small, everything ebbs and flows, and I am glad to be here, glad to have the chance to see what I see, to meet the people I've met and be a part of the lives around me. Tomorrow has so much hope, and I feel like this summer is going to be one of the very best in a long, long time. It has been a good day.
I have spent the last couple of days purging junk from our lives. I am not a minimalist in any manner, but I hate for junk to start piling up and cluttering our lives. The last time I did this big of a junk purge was a couple of years ago, and even then, there were things I just didn't finish doing, like my own closet.
I cannot believe how much junk I pulled out of that one spot. Today, I worked (with my friend Pam, the organizing lady) to declutter the office. We've decided to make a second office in the house using the spare bedroom since we never actually use it for a spare bedroom. That room will become a bid / file room, which will allow my office to be mainly used for writing. I will of course still be doing all the phone call stuff, but I don't have to have all of the old job files and old vendor files in here. We moved out a big shelf unit and put it in the other room, carving out a spot for my rocking chair and a reading lamp.
The other thing I did for myself today was order a new computer. I've been talking about getting a new one since forever, and I finally did. This is partly for the business (this old one will go in the extra office now), and partly a birthday present for me.
My birthday is tomorrow. I have a new computer on the way (well, it'll take a week to build and a couple of days to ship), a new reading space in my office, and several much cleaner spaces. Go me! I am thrilled.
Whatever you may think of the war, there are a lot of good people overseas, and this site... Books For Soldiers is a great way to show support. There's a board with specific requests (and sometimes they just would like a postcard). If you have books or magazines lying around, you may want to send them. I know they would be appreciated.
My oldest son has flown to Cancun for a vacation with his friends. I'm not terribly happy about this. He's going to fry in the sun. Paper would look tan next to him. I'm not kidding. He also doesn't like sand. So not a sand person. Got off the airplane, sent me an e-mail five minutes later, griping about the way the sand was already in everything. Five whole minutes in Mexico, and there's already a sand issue. There is also a peso issue, because apparently, pesos do not make sense. I fully expect to get a phone call from the Mexican government in the next couple of days asking me if I would please draw a line at Texas and keep my son on our side of the line. I fully expect him to be complaining in the background about the sand. And the pesos. And also, he doesn't speak Spanish. I'm just praying he doesn't learn the word for "jail" while he's there.
Tiny Coconut tagged me (which was very cool of her, by the way). So lessee.... who can I tag.... Oh, this one cracked me up. One of those rare moments when someone manages to retort just the right thing at the right time.
The last couple of days I've spent my spare time reading a friend's novel and giving her a fine / line edit; she has to turn it into her agent on Tuesday. It's the second book in a two-book deal, which is great. It's not the kind of book I could (or would) write, which is always a challenge when I'm reading and critiquing someone else's work, because she's a fine writer, truly riveting, and the goal is to remember what her objectives are rather than my own way of doing things.
I've been through critiques of my work where people truly had it in their head that they were going to look at my work with my goals in place of their own, and they worked hard to give me feedback and ask me questions which would help me achieve that goal. It's amazing how that sort of critique can bring clarity to what I want to do, can solidify what I believe (even when others disagree) and can help me realize what makes my writing mine. Finding readers like this is like finding your own personal gold mine, and you guard them and hoard them and keep them safe because they will make you a better writer far far faster than if you muddle through on your own.
Of course, I've also been through critiques which were just toxic by the time they were over, because they boiled down to what the other person would have done had they written the story, and how stupid I was for not having done it that way. Those, you learn to ignore. (And that sounds a lot simpler than it is, because they often hurt and give life to that nagging doubt that can sit on your shoulder and before you know it, that doubt has grown into a full-blown monster or, if it hadn't been beaten back before, grows from a monster to an all-out disaster that sucks you into its vortex and makes it impossible to write.) (To mix metaphors there a bit.)
Unfortunately, the really negative ones are usually the ones we remember most. One time in particular, a "friend" read a script of mine and proceeded to shred it to pieces. I not only didn't know how to write a story, I had told the wrong story for the characters, I had the wrong characters... oh, wait, no, by the time the critique was over, I didn't even know how to create characters, and if I completely rewrote it from top to bottom, I would have something amazing -- and he had a long list of suggestions of exactly how to change it. The minor glitch was, it was a romantic comedy and if I had made the changes he wanted, it would have been a thriller. (No, seriously, a thriller.) Of course, he capped the review off with a "but I love it, I love your work and you're a terrific writer!" Made me want to smack him. It was such a vicious critique, I was staggered. Finally, I showed the written critique to a couple of other friends who had read the same script and not only did they not agree, but they thought it was a particularly vicious and toxic critique as well. One person asked, "Are you sure this guy is your friend? Because I wouldn't even do this to an enemy."
It's sometimes hard to get past the negative feedback. I think writers can get 50 positive comments and one toxic negative one and our subconscious will focus on that negative comment. The real disaster happens when we start to subtly alter what we are writing (or editing what we had written) in order to silence that one negative voice. I used to think that I was the only one who had that tendency until I talked to another friend who'd had several movies produced. He said he felt like that one negatvie comment would sear into his brain and he had to do something to fix it, like a kid who wanted to please the toughest parent, and he finally learned to stop when he realized that the process was destroying everything he'd written... that he might make that one negative critic happy (but very likely not, because once someone has made up their mind they don't love something, can you ever really convince them that they do?)... and meanwhile, he would have destroyed what the other readers had loved. What do you gain if you make one person like something and the rest who had liked it... hate it? "Why," he asked me, "do we put a lot more emphasis on or weight or importance to the negative comments than we do the positive ones?"
Insecurity, probably. How does a writer have the gravitas to create a whole world out of our own imagination and concoct a story that we think people would not only want to read, but pay to read or see, in the case of a movie? You have to have a pretty big ego to believe you can accomplish that feat, and at the same time, you're human and you know you're flawed and you know you make mistakes and are just plain old wrong about some things (and it's your job as a writer to examine just those kinds of flaws), so you end up questioning yourself far more than, say, an accountant questions her own work.
I think, though, that having written for years and lived through the ups and downs of good and bad critiques did something to weather me as a writer, and I'm much happier in the place I am in now. There's a desire (always, still) to have a good reader and get feedback and improve the work -- that will never change. What has changed is that the number of people I give the writing to for a critique has decreased significantly. There are a couple of people I hand the writing to knowing that they will focus on characters, others will focus on plot, others will focus on language. They each have their sort of specialty and they have proven kind and constructive in the past, not afraid to tell me the truth but having no desire to do any damage, either. I think, too, one other important thing has changed -- probably the most important, and that is that I trust my instincts about what works. What I can do, how I do it, and why that's different from what anyone else can do. I don't want to write a novel that others don't have objections to; I want to write a novel which has its own unique flavor and take on the world which resonates with readers. It certainly won't be every reader, and it may not even appeal to a lot of readers, but I think I have the gravitas now to believe I can do that, and do it my way. Otherwise... why bother?
I was going to write a long ranty, and I do mean RANTY piece about how a certain cell phone company can stick their little orange logo up their collective asses because they tried to overcharge me $469.10. As if I wouldn't notice. Nor did they think I was going to notice that the hours we were supposed to not have charges (the nights and weekends) were, indeed, being charged to us. And I guess they thought I had developed complete amnesia when it came to the whole mobile-to-mobile part where I paid extra for the service of being able to talk UNLIMITED FOR FREE from mobile-to-mobile because crazy me, I actually expected to be able to talk mobile-to-moble for free. That's just how insane I am. So when I point out to them that half of the time, they didn't give me the mobile-to-mobile part free, they gave me three different explanations of what I had bought. Over the course of four phone calls to them in two days, there were three explanations as to why there were charges:
1)
Me: steamed.
2) Upon the call back, the new explanation was:
"I have a national calling plan. Why isn't it for the whole calling plan?"
[dumb silence]
"Everything was in the state, so I still don't see the problem."
"Well, you were supposed to call from the strict calling zone (which usually follows the major interstates.)"
"Are you looking at the bill? We did call from those zones. I want the credit."
"Really? Oh. Yes... I'm looking at your bill now and I see that they were. Well, we'll have to give you credit for them. But we don't have the ability to go through each page and separate them out, so you'll have to do that and call us back."
Me: fully ticked.
3) Call back again... the last guy was supposed to have made a note on the account AND was supposed to have given me credit for the night-time calls they accidentally charged us for. Which, turns out, he did not do. So I start explaining to the woman who answered why I was calling and I'm about to list the calls when she says:
"How does that matter? We aren't charged for that."
"Yes, but if you're not on OUR tower, then the mobile-to-mobile isn't free."
"So that whole FREE UNLIMITED mobile-to-mobile I bought is only free if we're on your tower."
"Yes. And only in your home town."
"So the explanation yesterday about it being for the whole state was wrong. And the other one about it being in our "calling area" which includes the towns listed on the bill... were wrong."
"Um, yes."
[toni's head explodes in frustration]
then:
"Um, I'm not sure."
"Well, it's like this. You can give me my credit or I can write to the FCC and show them what all is wrong with this one bill. God only knows how many other people they will make you have to refund."
"Um, I think I can get you that credit."
No kidding.
And that is the short, not-as-ranty version. There was oh-so-much more. They do this sort of thing every month. There is always some little something that someone managed to not explain when they offered me something "better" which ends up costing more. Grrr.
Yes, we should leave them and move to another carrier, which we will probably do. Unfortunately, we got the "free phones" when we first signed on with them which meant a two-year contract. And to buy out that contract for all six phones is more than it's worth right now. By fall, though, I'll move. I really shouldn't have to hock a child just to pay a freaking phone bill.
Spent the weekend writing, mostly. And resting. Sleeping. Writing. Repeat. It was a phenomenally relaxing weekend, which I desperately needed.
We'd had plans for Memorial Day, which got thrown into the trash first thing Monday morning because the slayed dragon was doing his dead level best to come back to life and haunt my ass, and I had to fax a whole bunch of stuff to the office of the stupid DEAD, damnit, dragon, at which point he finally agreed that yes, he was DEAD, and signed the damned check. And since he had managed to semi-revive once already, we drove to Covington to get said check before anyone could perform CPR. I swear, I wanted to bring a sword just to poke the damned thing. Metaphorically, of course. (not)
But the check was there, and signed, and for the correct amount, so we grabbed it and ran. I am not kidding when I say that I identify with Frodo and the last of the trilogy... I have never had to fight so many battles to get to the finish line.
So now, I am doing all of that fun, joyful, soul-inspiring accounting I just love to do, because I so love accounting to the bottom of my tippy tippy toes (/sarcasm). I am paying bills. Which is better, I suppose, than not being able to pay them.