Saturday, February 26, 2011

The Googly-Eyed Monster

My clean desk lasted three weeks. And it once again looks like a bookstore, library and fifteen filing cabinets projectile vomited all over it. Which means I'll probably be spending most of the weekend procrastinating instead of cleaning it or taking my characters and moving elsewhere. Like to the bat cave! Or, more likely, to the living room. Unless actual writing is on the agenda...

Last night I went to the book store with my friend. She was finally getting around to buying a published copy of Unclean - she is one of the few unfortunate souls who has been suckered in to reading the second through to final drafts of it - and we met an employee who was working her dream job, and dreaming of having her book published. We chatted for however long the transaction took, all the while I was playing with the googly eyed toys - Yes! I am nearing 30 and still take the time to play with all the strange toys that are sitting in front of the cash in the "impulse" section. Clearly I am one of the people with limited impulse control... I didn't end up getting one - If  I had, I would be sitting here squeezing the torso of the toy until the eyes popped out instead of just sitting here writing about them. They were even on stalks. Very fancy.

But back to the conversation. The employee - a female - is 19 and for a few seconds I was reminded of myself as a writer a decade ago. That is, until we got into a conversation about the characters living in my head. She looked at me like I was insane. I believe she may have even made a comment to that effect. So I  wondered - briefly - am I the only person who admits to that part of the writing process? But, armed with a pot of coffee this morning, the tired haze being scrubbed from my mind,  I know that I have read about other writers experiencing the same thing - otherwise I would not be so forthcoming about mine...

No matter. I am comfortable living in my own little world. All the people know me there.

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