One of those days…

My boy, Dave is here and that is really nice.  I started writing right when Don went out the door to drive Will to school.  That way I was sure to get a nice hunk of writing done before Dave woke up. 

My writing didn’t flow the way I wanted it to.  As a matter of fact it didn’t flow at all.  Dave woke up around 10 o’clock!  Which was a real shocker.  But I was really happy to hear his footsteps tromping down the stairs, because it gave me a legitimate reason to flee my writing room.  Normally writing would take precedence over preparing a second breakfast, but Dave is only here for 24 hours so of course writing is relegated to the trunk of the car.

I whipped up some more batter and watched my boy eat an enormous waffle with butter, maple surup and a side of bacon.  There is something very satisfying about watching my children eat. 

Then Don and Dave went downstairs for an triathlon epic battle of air hockey, ping-pong and some NHL video game were they sit on the sofa with these little consoles in their hand wiggling their fingers and thumbs wildly with a great deal of manly grunts and groans erupting from their mouths.  It is more physical than one would think. 

Anyway, one would think with all that going on, that I would be able to tuck down into a great spell of creativity, but no. 

There was an email to deal with.  I’d inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings.

There was another email from Audible.com.  Who are going to be carrying my audio versions of Gemma and Singing Songs.  I am delighted of course, but first there are all these business details to deal with, and forms to fill out, and high resolution copies of the book covers to track down.  And I know I will manage, but the language of the documents kind of scares me.  Like what is a “Metadata Spreadsheet” and how am I ever going to figure it out.  There is something about the word Metadata that causes me to break out into a cold sweat. 

And I think that the stuff I did manage to write today, is way off base.  It’s probably crap and I’m scared to read it over because then I will be certain that it is.  And that is always depressing when that happens because then it feel like the time that I spent writing it was wasted time.  There is nothing worse than finding out that you’ve wasted time when you were trying to be good and virtuous. 

Why did I want to be a writer?  Why did I decide to re-write this manuscript for the sixth time?

And to top it all off, we had guests last night for dinner and I tried to cook well, but my head was in my book and I’m not sure, but I think the food sucked and everybody was being polite because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. 

Boy, aren’t you glad you read my blog today?

Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, May 14, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

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