we interupt this blog...

My family is in town from Texas. Three people sleeping in my living room. One in my office. And eight people sharing a single bathroom. The twins are having their birthday party on Saturday and I have yet to even create a menu, let alone go shopping for food. The decorations haven't been purchased and I don't know what I'm going to do to entertain the seven children in attendance while the 25 adults amuse themselves. (My husband and his brothers will most certainly bust out the Wii.) And I have to bake two cakes.

To sum up, I have a crazy ton of stuff happening these next few days. So probably no novel writing and definitely no blogging. At least until next week.

Meanwhile I can't believe the twins will be two on Monday. This time last year they were sucking pacis and learning how to walk. Now they're children. It's insane.

[Photo note: Lily on the morning of her first birthday. She was not amused by the pink party hat.]

a taste of one

As promised here's a taste of Chapter One. And thus far the only chapter I'm really happy with. Going to retool the next couple. Remember this is only a first draft, so try not to rip me apart.

What's happened so far: Our main gal Beth left work early and walked in on her boyfriend Alex having sex on their bed. She stormed out, hopped on the train and ended up at Coney Island.

The last time I was here it was with Alex. It was a hot and humid day. He wore ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. I was wearing a yellow sundress.

“You know I’m only here for the hot dogs right?” he teasingly said to me. The hot dog stand was a long-standing joke between us. He never understood why I only ate hot dogs from this particular place. “Hot dogs are hot dogs,” he’d say. “Get them at a ball game, a hot dog cart in the park or at a barbeque.” I’d consider a lightly charred hot dog freshly speared off the coals, but as for the rest forget about it. I’m not typically a fan. And yet…

“This is where hot dogs were born!” How can he not see my point? It’s like eating crepes in France, gelato in Italy or sushi in Japan. When in Coney Island you have to stop by the Nathan’s hot dog stand. Alex didn’t believe that hot dogs originated in Coney Island. So once we trudged home I did a little online research. When I located proof he just scoffed and claimed I was ridiculous for caring so much to take the time to look it up. I should have known then he was not the guy for me. My soul mate would realize the importance of eating hot dogs and fries from such a historical landmark.

Geez, now I’m crying. Thinking about it, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened earlier. It took a little hot dog history to get the tear ducts moving I suppose. The salty tears are warm on my cold cheeks, cooling off as they sit and then dry away. I haven’t reached the hysterical sobbing stage yet, but I know it can’t be far off. After all, this isn’t a matter of being yelled at by my boss or getting a call from my mother asking when she can expect to be a grandmother. My boyfriend, the man I’ve been devoted to for two entire years now, cheated on me.

And was this the first time? Probably not I suppose. Maybe he’s been keeping girls the whole time, like side dishes to my main course. Or maybe I’m the side dish? Oh man, I do not want to be the side dish. I deserve better. I deserve to be the main dish and the sides. Like a chicken potpie or dinner my mom would make in the crock-pot. I am an entire meal damn it! I am filling, satisfying and damn delicious. Nothing else is necessary.

when life gives you bananas

The old lemons into lemonade phrase is so cliche. So instead we're going to talk about bananas. Spotty, old, over-ripe bananas. When you have them, turn them into banana bread. That's how my novel started. I lost my part-time freelance writing job. And even though there's still much too much to do, I decided to take advantage of being unemployed. Still, searching for a job is almost like having a job in itself (without the getting a paycheck part). I spend hours and hours every week cruising the job boards, sending out tailored cover letters and writing samples for prospective clients. And other things around the house are getting done like painting the kitchen table, creating the twins' first and second year photo albums and even organizing our kitchen pantry.

But I needed a creative outlet to keep me from going positively and completely insane. Thus my yet untitled novel was born. Well, let's just say it's in labor.

And coming next week... a little taste of the first chapter.

distractions

I think it's safe to say that the hardest part for anyone trying to attempt a side job (whether it's a bakery business, photography or writing a novel) is simply finding the time. Distractions seem to have a way of, well, getting in the way. Both twins got sick this week, taking turns of course with tons of green snot, vomiting and diarrhea. (Mlech!) So my usual times to write—early in the morning, after the kids' bedtime or during nap—have been commandeered by my nursing duties.

Even when I'm not scrubbing diaper explosions out of the carpet, there are still distractions at every turn. Reading just a couple blogs can turn into an hour wasted on the internet. An old high school friend finds me on Facebook, which results in a massive email exchange. And though I know I should grab my laptop, Tina Fey along with some Green & Black's Hazelnut & Currant chocolate provides me 30 minutes of complete, brainless bliss after a nonsensically long day. Even this blog post is a distraction because I had to go on the Green & Black's website to make sure I got the name right. Then I was sucked into the delicious world of chocolate for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, winter is all about distractions in another way... trying to keep the twins occupied indoors. I've resorted to indoor umbrella play (bad luck be damned), sheet forts over the furniture and tons of baking. Spring can't come soon enough in this house.

the premise

Now for answer the question everyone asks... what is it about?

Well even the short version isn't that short. I need to work on that. So here goes:

Artsy, cute, funny and charming NYC girl loves boy. She discovers him cheating on her in their own bed. She leaves him. Girl meets man. One completely opposite. Stable, wealthy, suit-wearing gentleman 10 years her senior as opposed to a grungy guitar player. Girl falls in love with man. Then girl finds out he has cancer.

That's really just the tip of the iceberg. There's a plot twist during the climax of the book that changes everything. Only I don't want to have to create 'spoiler alerts' for stuff that's not even written, so you'll have to hold tight.

Oh, and it's loosely based on a true story. "Girl" (Beth) is one of my best friends. And I was there for all the drama.

[Photo: This is my muse Kate. Although Beth isn't Kate, she is definitely the inspiration. That's me in the background making a stupid face. And my husband Dave's, well, nose and hand]

starting a novel is the easy part...

... Finishing it is the challenge. Which is why I re-introduced Words At Play. In my early 20s I started a novel. Got 100 pages into it. And then suddenly dropped it because I had lost my direction. In my late 20s I started a second novel and decided to draft it from first paragraph to last page. And dropped it due to outside circumstances beyond my control.

So here I am in my 30s. I started a novel in November. The first chapter came and went in days. It was good. I was super proud and even more excited. Enter holiday madness combined with a massive tailbone injury stemming from falling down a flight of stairs. Beyond the actual pain, I just didn't have the desire to write. And what I did write was sheer and utter crap.

The longer I stayed away the harder it became to come back. I procrastinated. I read a ton of novels as "research". The floor needed to be vacuumed. Laundry needed to be done. The twins exhausted me that day. My cat felt neglected. There was always an excuse.

I'm done with excuses. And I need a reason to keep me at the computer. A reason to be accountable. And this is it.

The good days where my fingers can't type as fast as my mind is churning out the paragraphs. The bad days where I wonder why I suddenly have the writing capacity of a second grader. The challenges. The hurdles. The triumphs. And the frustrations.

Welcome to a novel in progress. For better or for worse.

[Photo note: This picture was taken about six months ago. Notice how the 'N' key is worn off a bit. It's even worse now. My other keys are fine. I've spent countless minutes debating why the N is the sole scarred soldier in my battalion of computer keys. Do I use him the most? Does my finger rest there unknowingly between sentences? Is the N coating somehow faulty? Now you understand how easy it is for me to become distracted...]