No more blithely ordering yummy caffeinated coffee beverages after 9 o’clock at night. Three Four in the morning is far too late for you to be going to bed, whether you have to work tomorrow or not. I mean it. Repeat after me: decaf is not wimpy and they won’t laugh at you for ordering it.
If I can’t write anything worth reading, the least I can do is change my banner so it looks like something exciting is going on here. One day, when I have the money, I will let the chicks at BlogMoxie design a beautiful new layout worthy of the fascinating tale that is my life (please note the sarcasm there). Until then, you’re stuck with my rudimentary design skills which are coloring-book quality, at best. I do know how to amuse myself, though.
So, I am mostly recovered from The Incident TM. We shall not speak of it again. I’m wired on coffee and should be spinning this energy into a tale of danger and intrigue (starring the redhead above), when instead I’m doing anything but.
I hit the bookstore tonight. Ahh… what angst and heartbreak exists there. Perusing the shelves of endless books written by countless authors and none of them me. Crushing, I tell you. I’m conceited enough to know I’m as worthy of shelf space as, say, Dr. Phil and yet I’ve been beaten down by rejection so many times I have to pause and wonder if it’s worth it.
I wrote 950 pages the year after my first little novel sold. That’s roughly a quarter of a million words. I wrote my little heart out, trying to sell another book. I didn’t sell a single word. Zip. Nothing. Reject. Try again. Do over. Over and over and over again. Talk about an experience in humility. It’s enough to bring a tear to your eye, isn’t it? Yeah, yeah.
Strangely enough, I’m still writing. Whether it’s a triumphant story of perseverance and talent or a cautionary tale of failure and despair remains to be seen. But I’ll keep at it until they pry my cold, dead fingers from the keyboard. Why? Because back there in that last paragraph I wrote “my first little novel” without even thinking about it. Only someone truly in love with writing (or truly stupid?) would write “first” in the same sentence mentioning 950 unsold pages of blood, sweat and tears. I guess I must believe it’s worth the rejection and the insecurities and the depression and the drinking problem (well, not yet… but we all know it’s only a matter of time) and the sheer terror of failing yet again, in the hopes that I’ll once again be among the countless authors taking up space at Barnes and Noble. Otherwise I wouldn’t write “first,” right?
Yeah, it’s worth it. That kind of blissed out nirvana is worth whatever suffering it takes to get there. I just need to remind myself of that more often.
I’m feeling better. ‘Better’ being a relative term, of course. I have stopped throwing up (and let me pause for a moment to do my happy dance over that) and I can walk from one end of the house to the other without having to take a ten minute break in between. I still feel like someone turned me inside out and left me that way, but considering how I was feeling twenty-four hours ago, I’m doing remarkably well. I’m going to live!
I may never eat again, however.
We interrupt this weblog for a mild case of food poisoning. We will return you to Kristina’s normally entertaining musings just as soon as she is feeling better. Kristina would like to send her apologies for any disappointment her absence may cause, as well offer a warning: stay away from A&W’s chili cheese fries.
Thank You,
The Management Team
I bought a prom dress today. I know, I know. My high school prom was 19 years ago and I probably won’t be going to another prom any time soon. But it was on sale at a really low price and I couldn’t resist. It’s a 1940s-ish retro-looking, black polka-dotted, flouncy-skirted, spaghetti-strapped, gathered-bodice type dress. In other words, totally adorable and irresistible… and impractical. I’m such a girl. I could always wear it to clean the house, I guess. Or maybe I could be a prom chaperone… hmm…
Anyone know where I can get a pair of sexy Mary Janes?
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
