Dog-Tired

Well, aside from tiara-wearing, snow-scraping, donut-bearing, blood-donating daytime adventures, I've been a busy, busy girl this week and I am sooooo tired, can I just tell ya?

Really tired.

Gripefest coming your way, but it's not a bitchy, mopey, whiny one. It's more of a productive, I'm-really-tired-but-things-aren't-getting-done-fast-enough gripefest.

I just finished a big project for my freelance job, which was stressful but in that gratifying "I DID IT" stressful way, and it's a monthly project, and now that I got the first month out of the way, I feel comfortable with it, and can plan and be structured for upcoming months. I'm learning a ton on HTML and editing and it's all good, and if Mr. Manic decides to dump me for his next wife, (who is currently learning geometry in junior high, he claims), then at least I'll be all set in the career department!

Since my New Year's Resolution didn't quite work out the way I planned, I had to come up with a new plan. So, I bought this book by Kelly Stone called, Time to Write, which is great, and I love it, but I almost didn't get it.

Why, you ask?

Because, I almost didn't have TIME TO GO TO THE STORE TO PICK IT UP!

Seriously. I ordered it from the bookstore, and they held it for me for like a jazillion months. They called me. They emailed me. They begged me. "Manic, hello. It's us again. Can you please come get this freaking book that's taking up like one inch by six inches of space behind our desk?"

Finally, I called them and asked if they still had the book. They said it was on hold for one more day. This was a sign! I had to get the book!

I finally had the TIME TO BUY IT.

Then, I had to find TIME to read TIME TO WRITE so I could figure out how to actually find TIME TO WRITE.

It's a god-awful process I tell you. But I have read through some of it, and it's really good, it makes complete sense. So logical! So inspiring. It basically says, "You want to write, you gotta do it."

I want to write! Hey, I'm writing right now. I'M FINDING TIME TO WRITE! Miracle of all miracles! This book WORKS!! I must contact the author and tell her that her book is amazing! And it is, because all joking aside, I have taken Kelly Stone's advice since my initial 2008 resolution of Monday through Thursday 12-1:30 writing slot didn't quite work out, and revamped it a bit.

Now, for the past three days, I've been getting out of bed at 6:13 a.m. To write.

And let me tell you, IT'S TRICKY!




[Stop for a moment and Chair Dance with me my Manic Homies!]
Come on! you know you totally want to!

OK, you can stop now.

Now, getting up at 6:13 a.m. might not seem like a big stretch to you, but YOU try getting out of bed in the dead of winter in a tundra-like SHINING environment and tell ME it's easy! Especially when you're used to flopping out of bed, throwing a cold pop-tart at your two older kids, kissing them and waving them out the door, then crawling back into bed all cozy-comfy just in time for My Monkey Curious George!

IT.IS.NOT.AS.EASY.AS.ONE.MIGHT.THINK.

BUT, I am getting reaquainted with book #2, learning about my characters again, switching it up a bit, making one guy not so bad, making another one more hotter, making some scenes steamier... well, let me just give you a snippet:

“You said you’ve never done that with anyone before!” Marnie yelled, as Joe tried to focus on the road. He didn’t speak, just kept his jaw tight and his knuckles clenched on the steering wheel.

“You’re high!” she accused.

After Trina’s comment, Marnie left the table and stumbled inside to find Joe, who was in the den with five people she had never seen. The pungent smell of weed and loud Grateful Dead music clobbered at her senses, and the beers she had had didn’t help her judgment. Somebody coughed, then passed a one-hitter.

“I’m leaving,” Marnie said. Five sets of glazed eyes stared at her.

Joe, his eyes red and glassy too, looked momentarily confused. “Yeah. Okay. We can go.”

Now though, Marnie wondered why she had even gotten into the car with him.

“You know what?” Marnie spit out, and she knew her words were slurring, coming out slower than she intended because of the beer. “Stop the car. I want to get out.”

Still, nothing from Joe.

Marnie smacked at his right bicep, hard, but not as hard as she wanted to.

“Dammit! I’m trying to drive!”

She crouched over on her side of the car, leaning against the door, afraid of what might happen if she pressed him more.

She felt his exhale in the space of the car. “What I told you was I hadn’t been that way with anyone else. There’s a difference.”

“So. The lemons? Is that your signature move?” She hoped her words bit into him. “Did you and Trina…? What the hell am I to you, anyway?” She kept up, knowing she was pissing him off. “What are we anyway?”

“I shouldn’t have brought you to the party. I didn’t think Trina would be there. It was nothing. She meant nothing.”

So many thoughts ran through Marnie’s mind, but she was afraid to say anything, so she waited.

“Look, maybe this thing… maybe it isn’t a good idea,” he finally said.

She stopped breathing, hearing the low strength in his voice, the threat of how it sounded. Yes, she was angry at him; she had felt ignored, set up, had felt he left her to deal with some jealous bitch he obviously had been with; but she didn’t want them to end over it.

She didn’t want to get in a fight with him; to have him say forget it, that being together wasn’t good. Maybe this Trina really hadn’t meant anything to him. She so wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

His jaw twitched, it looked as if he were grinding his teeth; and he focused on driving. Marnie sat quietly, grasping the car door, as if that would prevent him from making a fatal error.

When he pulled up to the drive of her parent’s house, she didn’t look at him, but unbuckled her seat belt slowly and reached for her purse between them.

He grabbed onto her arm. “Wait. Don’t go in. There’s no reason for you to be mad at me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She shook her arm free from him and looked into his stoned eyes, dry and red-rimmed. He put his hand onto her thigh, moved his hand all over her warm skin. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry. She’s just such a bitch.” He moved close to her and pressed himself onto her. She could smell his cologne. She could hear him breathing; practically taste his breath upon her neck. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her, insistent, hard.

In the house, with the foyer lights on, she let him slide her onto the wooden stairs, push up her skirt and take off her panties. He unzipped quickly, keeping his pants on, and felt his way into the parts of her he already knew so well. He was relentless, and her back hurt as he slammed into her, but she wanted this, she wanted him to want her so much that he couldn’t control himself, and that made Marnie feel powerful. She pulled his body closer to hers, rammed fingernails into his skin, scraping, and pressed so far into him her breasts flattened against his chest. She grabbed at him, so he could plunge deeper; helped him to force his way into everything she was.

Because, as scared as she was, already, she was more afraid to think of what she would be without him.

So. At least it's something. I'm tired. But I'm writing.