I am making lists.
Lots of lists. I'm a listaholic and most of my lists disappear in the clutter of lists and papers. If you would look in my purse there would be more papers of lists.
And I would show you my crazy assortment of lists if the darn picture uploader would work . . . .
Which it's not so it's going to disrupt my topic of discussion---oh wait, got it working.
Well, I pretty much finished this post with out the pictures and went into a whole different area that I wanted to touch upon so I will leave this post up and then do the actual post I wanted to do today next week.
Still with me?
So. Lists.
I make lists to remember things that I need to do, things that I want to do, and things I so need to avoid doing again in the future. And of course there are my food lists, my art supply lists, my lists for writing my weekly schedule which hardly ever goes according to plan, except for one week which was an anomaly in itself.
Last night, hubby and I were sitting on the couch and I had a sudden thought, pertaining to the story line of the novel I am currently writing, hit me. I had my pad of paper--
(I have thousands of pads of paper and post its because I may need to write things down at any given moment, so our apartment, my car and my desk is littered with paper [not very green of me, I know, I will try to be better] and one year Eric gave me a HUGE stack of post its for Christmas. They didn't survive half the following year. And for my bridal shower, my friend Maria gave us a huge stack of various size notepaper, which I use everyday....and I am getting away from my orginal story as I usually do....eeep!)
--but had no pen to write my thoughts down so I asked my Eric to give me a pen from the table next to him. Shocking. I generally wear pens, pencils, paintbrushes and other seemingly sharp and dangerous objects in my hair because it's easily accessible (don't look at me like that I know some of you do it to) which drives my husband nuts because there hardly goes a week when he doesn't get stabbed by something in my hair. I think that's why he generally likes my hair down. I can't conceal any weapons in it if it's down. Huh. I'm like Marge Simpson. haha.
Anyways, back to the story.
I asked for the pen, he teased me a little with the pen. I was like a cat trying to snatch a laser light out of the air.
*not my cat
Finally he relented and I got to write down my notes. Which was promptly added to the pile of papers tucked into my purse. Thankfully I managed to find it from the blackhole that is my handbag and am trying to squeeze in some more novel writing in between actual money making work.
Which has been going pretty well this week. I managed to finish a chapter and am veering in a slightly different direction than which I started, oh, about over ten freaking years ago!
Yes, I've been working on these characters and this basic story for over ten years. I'm a brat, I know. But I think I finally found the format that I would like to present it in. And, it seems to be going well, even though the other day I sat down and read some pages from a book that held the original writing format that I had used when I first wrote the story.
Enter the internal battle that constantly rages. Part of me was like, 'look! why didn't you just stick with it that way! it's working out just fine for them!' and the other part says 'you're almost done writing it in the new style, why try to change it, AGAIN?'
I'll finish writing it. I'll send it to someone who gives a damn and see what they say.
Anyways, I must be off. Lunch is waiting and my characters are calling for me.
Hot tea. Yay!
Now back to work work and working on my novel.
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