Wednesday I had a GREAT writing day. GREAT writing days have been rather hard for me to come by lately. I'm on my very first deadline and finding it to not be nearly as cool as I thought it would be. I've been writing like mad and cranking out the words--but it hasn't been fun, I've constantly questioned what I'm writing, and though I like what I'd created I knew it wasn't fabulous. So basically I was spending all my time working on something I wasn't liking very much. I've been writing on a timer--which means I make myself write for 30 minutes, then go do something fun--like clean a toilet, mop the floor, sort socks. What, those don't sound fun? EXACTLY my point. When things like that become the reward for writing, it says a lot about how much I've been enjoying the writing, doesn't it?
But Wednesday was a GREAT writing day. Tuesday had also been good, which made Wednesday even better. I wrote for almost four hours--didn't even think about laundry or flossing or anything like that. My wonderful, fabulous, cheerleading friend Julie had put me on a 1,300/day diet back in December so I could finish this book. I'd been following her plan, but calling every few days to whine about it (keep in mind Julie has two full time jobs on top of her own writing--and I'm complaining to her because I only have 6 hours a day to myself. Yes, I have fabo friends that put up with me).
I felt like I'd finally broken that barrier and I had to call her and tell her about it--knowing she would scream and squeal on the other end of the line and drop everything to tell me how happy she was for me.
So I dialed her number, waited three rings and heard, "Hello."
(Imagine this next part being said at 100 miles an hour in my high-pitched excited voice) Hi, it's me, I just had to call you because I knew you'd be so happy for me, I'm writing, and I love it and I resolved all those stupid plot holes and I'm so dang excited and I actually like this and it's finally just coming to me, ya know, and I feel like I could write for hours--I'm like some kind of super hero--and . . . hello? . . . hello?"
She'd hung up on me!
Well, that was rather anti-clamatic. So I hit redial and just happen to glance at the number before putting it to my ear. Was that a 9 instead of a 6? It's supposed to be a 6. Did I dial the wrong number?
Some lady with a prefix of 849 was just reminded that she needed to talk to her kids about the dangers of drug use again.