Tonight.

It is probably a very good thing that my whole book is typed into my computer, otherwise its fate would look something like

Only I envision each sheet of paper being lit on fire. That is how I feel right now. I open my file and I stare at it, and then i go look up videos like, “Black Eyed Peas Oprah Flashmob,” which leads me to “Watch Oprah give away 200 cars,” and then somehow I spend an hour watching videos of people being surprised with puppies while I cry into my glass of wine. Okay, I don’t actually cry. I mean, I do, but not because I’m sad. I cry when i see people cry, and everyone cries when they are surprised with a puppy.

I tried to go for a walk in the North Carolina late night humidity, but my lovely dog has an aversion to grass that is taller than his paws. And no, my grass is not at peak levels of, “Your neighbor is going to call the city and have you reported,” but Sampson believes it is and won’t go outside after dark. So there’s that. And while I am being honest, the amount of pent up writer’s block I have, I could walk to California and back.

I don’t hate my book. Well, I do…but just for right now in this very second my keys are being pressed to type this very word. I love my book, I love the story and my characters. I have loved them for years and I am happy that they have a home now other than inside my head, because to be honest that’s not the place to be.

It’s just…you know when you move into a new place and when the person showed it to you, it was all shiny and perfect. You move in and later that night, in the deep, dark quiet of blissful new home feelings…you see a bug crawl across the floor. That’s how i feel about the home I put my story in. It’s a nice home, the foundations are solid, just right now it has bugs. And I WANT to make it shiny again, but all the exterminators are busy.

I promise I will. I want to fix you, story, I do.

Just for the moment…I don’t know how.

Thank you for attending my brief (for you) self pity party.

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