Wednesday, July 17, 2013
I've been reading a mystery novel that is more of an attempt at humor than mystery.
It is the LONGEST BOOK IN THE UNIVERSE.
It's not my usual genre, but the author was highly touted on some other blog, so I decided to give her a shot. Instead, I'm wishing I had a shot...preferably mixed into a margarita.
And speaking of liquor...
Ever since I started this book I've been daydreaming about strange things. Mind you, I dream about strange things anyway at night, so this isn't so unusual. This is the slow season at work and I seem to have plenty of time to let my mind wander. Lately I've been dressed in a ballerina outfit, complete with tutu and sparkly crown, dancing for members of my family. I've also managed to be the executive chef of a Thai restaurant, a parking lot attendant who is secretly a spy for The Underground (whatever that is), and someone from France who loves soft cheese that smells of body odor.
Because of All the Daydreaming, you would think I could at least write a coherent sentence with some believable images for The Project Which is Nameless.
As a matter of fact, it's been three weeks since I've written a word.
I think it has to do with going to the critique group. In my imagination they read the twelve pages presented to them and then try to speak, but are prevented from doing so by the raw emotion my writing brings out in them. One or two members sniffle, another pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at his eyes. After a moment or so, they all begin to applaud and lavish me with praise.
As I said, I dream a lot of weird things.
When I actually went to the group, I handed the first twelve pages out. After about six of the pages were read out loud, there was silence. Thick, impenetrable silence, followed by the leader of the group letting out a long, slow breath.
"Well...." he said, and I knew in my heart it wasn't going to be good.
That's been my downfall these past weeks. Doing something I love and not doing it WELL, not doing a PERFECT job, has always been the bane of my existence. If I can't be perfect at what I attempt, I quit attempting. I can't tell you how many classes I dropped in college because I found out I wasn't getting an "A"!
So, how do I get over this hump? I REALLY want to do this.
And what's more, I KNOW I can write better than the author I'm currently reading. If she can get published, I can!