I need an adult.

Here’s the thing about me. I’m pretty much incapable of creating structure for myself. If I don’t have things like work or boy spawns or delicious food-related events to ensure I get up at a reasonable hour, then by god I am going to sleep until my legs start to twitch because they haven’t moved in seventeen hours and are possibly starting to atrophy. Just because it’s my god given American right to do so. If I don’t take advantage of this delicious, blanket burrito shaped freedom, WHO WILL?

Also, eating. If there’s no one around to keep me on a regular eating schedule, I will most likely shove a handful of whatever carbohydrate is handy into my mouth and wash it down with some diet coke or maybe crystal light or possibly vodka if the timing is right. (I should note here that the timing is rarely right.)  

Basically? Without outside forces keeping me in line, I live my life like an eleven year old allowed to spend spring break home alone for the first time.

I think it’s that thing that grown ups call “a lack of discipline” but I’m not positive.

  

Expectations for my first boyspawn and social engagement free weekend of the year:

1. SO MANY WORDS, OMG. GOOD WILL HUNTING PROBABLY WOULDN'T EVEN BE ABLE TO COUNT THAT HIGH, Y’ALL.
2. Maybe some laundry if I have time?

Reality:

1. I read three books from start to finish
2. I had a dance party in my underwear
3. I wrote a blog post about why Ryan Gosling is a douchebag but I love him anyway and tied it into character development and puzzle pieces? I don’t know either, guys.
4. I learned all the words to It’s the End of the World As We Know It because I thought it would be a good theme song, but it turns out it wasn’t.
5. I cleaned my bathroom for maybe the first time all year? (This is a judgment free zone, guys.)
6.  I did seven loads of laundry
7. I wrote for a total of maybe 6 hours in a 48 hour time period

The thing about having unlimited time to write? Is that I tell myself I have unlimited time to write, so I can do all these other things I haven’t been doing because I’ve been squeezing writing into every free second I have. 

And while it was a refreshing weekend after a very busy couple of weeks, and before the incredibly insane few weeks that are coming, it wasn’t necessarily very productive. I did make some measurable headway, but not enough for an entire weekend alone.

So, who has two thumbs, a tendency to procrastinate and a need for structure if she is to be productive? THIS GIRL.

Life lessons, guys. Life lessons.

the life cycle of a book baby

the other day a friend asked me where i was at with this project, and i told her i was in the zygote stage of writing my book. she looked at me like i was crazy (not a rare turn of events, if i'm honest). i tried to explain, but i'm not sure she ever got it. and i thought, well... maybe some visual representations would help? six hours of pouring my blood, sweat and tears in MS Paint later, and we have... this.

i apologize in advance. 

there comes a time in every writer's life when they start to get...feelings. feelings deep down in inside. hot, heavy and sometimes overwhelming feelings that can be hard to talk about with other people. and most of the time? with these feelings come urges.

this is what i call... the want.
sometimes, the want comes and goes. it's there for awhile and you ignore it, thinking you're not ready for that kind of commitment yet. you have your whole life ahead of you. this is for the future. when you're settled.

but then one day, out of nowhere... you get the spark. it could be anything. a word that is drawing pictures in your head. a song that won't stop spinning in your brain. a phantom voice that won't stop talking to you. but it's there. and you can't ignore it.
 
the want? it likes the spark. and the spark? it thinks the want would be a pretty cool place to set up shop. but as with many things, once one sparks, a lot of others begin cropping up too. suddenly you're inundated with things that catch your interest. possibilities are floating around everywhere. your head is spinning and it's SO EXCITING OMG.

usually, there is only one that sticks, though. one that holds your interest more than all the others. and that spark joins forced with the want, and becomes... THE IDEA.

don't be sad, little sparklesperms. we're not getting rid of you. we're just going to hoard you for later. maybe even incorporate you in THE IDEA.

once you've got a firm grip on your IDEA, things start happening pretty quickly. your brains are exploding with all the details. character arcs and eye colors and settings and omg, that one scene when they kiss--SWOONS. all the tiny little details that will make your IDEA into an actual BOOK are beginning to develop.

by this time, you know your story. maybe not every tiny detail from point A to point Z, but the big stuff. you know your characters, and you're already bffs and pretty much in love with them. it's inside you now. you're attached. you may have even named it. it's traveled from the distant land of your brains and made a little home in your heart. awww.

for me, this is when all the conceptualizing stops and the writing begins. i've got the pictures in my head. i've got a direction, and i'm just itching to get the words down. it's all i can think about. every spare moment is spent writing or thinking about writing. and every so often i look up and realize my little zygote of an idea is starting to take shape. it's looking more and more like a BOOK BABY.

omg, my baby has EYELASHES.

zomg, baby has hands with FINGERS AND EVERYTHING.

meanwhile, you start to get really obnoxious about the fact that you are WRITING A BOOK. you insert that fact into every conversation possible. you become the newlywed everyone hates on facebook. "last night when i was working on MY BOOK--you know, the one that I'M WRITING?" "penelope--you know, the main character in MY BOOK? she said the funniest thing last night." "no, sorry. i can't go with you to the make out with colin firth party, i have to WRITE MY BOOK." 

and then one day... you finish. it is the greatest day in your life. (or so i imagine.)

omg, would you look at this baby? is it not the cutest effing baby you have ever seen in your entire life? doesn't it make you just want to read the holy crap out of it? if this book baby started wearing army pants and flip flops, you would totally buy army pants and flip flops too.

so that's Part One of The Life Cycle of a Book Baby. i could take this metaphor further (and i probably will, at some point) but i'm sure i've lost most everyone's interest by now. also my hand might be stuck in permanent claw form from all the MS Paintering.