Writer's Madness

Sometimes I swagger through the house feeling tall and mighty and brave and brilliant.  Sometimes I hunch, scratching in the dirt, strangling the weeds, muttering defensively to myself.  Sometimes I hurl myself at the household chores with the tearful fervor of the newly saved, and sometimes I stare unblinkingly through the front window stuffing toast and jam and toast and jam and toast and jam into my face. 

And although none of these physical, mental, emotional states may take place in my office, at my desk, facing my computer, they are all about writing.

The book I'm working on now is all things to me from celebration to self loathing. 

Maybe it was like this with all my books. I don't know.  I can't remember writing any other books.  Like falling in love, and breaking up: it's always the first time.

Do dentists and data processors find themselves periodically dancing to the intestinal rumblings of an unknowable beast during their work day?  

Or, more to the point: Does a writer's emotional whiplash have anything at all to do with the work itself?  With how the writing is going?  With what is showing up on the page?  

I doubt it.

Here's what I suspect: Since we make up the story, and make up the people in it, and make up what these made up people do, and make up how they feel about what we've made up for them to do... We probably also make up how we feel about them and what we have them doing and why. 

Perhaps by spending all this time emeshed in so much making up we've simply driven ourselves mad.  Although maybe I'm just making that up.

xo

Amy

Doggish Intentions

There I was, innocently trolling facebook when I happened to notice a post by a friend who is forever putting up heartbreaking pictures of dogs who need rescuing. 

I knew I should have unfriended her the moment she started that, but I failed to do so in time to miss this photo.

He reminded me of the crazy dog who was dragged off to the gas chamber in the movie The Lady and The Tramp. Remember him? 

The facebook story was that this puppy needed a TEMPORARY foster home as he'd worn out his welcome with the dog, cats and chickens he was staying with.

A few days, maybe a week... 

Insert romantic montage of this puppy and my puppy, Wally, paw in paw on the beach at sunset, sharing a candlelit dinner of dirty underpants from our laundry bin, frolicking on our bed while we are trying to sleep...

 
The day approached when we were supposed to send him away. 

I balked. 

Negotiations began. Did we need another dog? NO! Did we need more vet bills while our finances are so precarious? NO! More shedding and dog poop? NO! 

Did I want to squash any chance of ever leaving town again at the same time as my husband? 
Was I looking for added unforeseen but inevitable drama and sorrow? A thousand times NO!

And what about the poor woman who was waiting with open arms? Who had already bought him new dog-toys and chews in eager anticipation of his arrival? 

Can you guess the rest of this story?

*Sigh* 
I'm sure there is a lesson to be learned here, but the real question is: What shall we name him?

xo Amy

A Workout For The Rest Of Us!

I know you’ve all been wondering how I managed to regain my girlish figure, so I’ve decided to come clean, so-to-speak.

But first, I shall tell you what didn’t work: My gym membership. Fact: Although I was in good standing at 24 Hour Fitness for nearly a decade, it became increasingly obvious (around the waist, butt, and thigh areas) that paying fat-dues was not actually the answer.  

What did pan out however as a marvelous weight loss boon, was becoming broke! And it was so easy! In fact, it required so little effort on my part that I hardly even noticed it was happening!

First it was farewell to all those high calorie meals out! Then, ta-ta to prepared food brought in. So-long to car insurance for my teens next. More walking equaled fitness benefits for the whole family! No need to drive to the market, all I can afford fits in one bag the perfect size for working those biceps! So, not paying for gas equals a firmer butt and smaller carbon footprint! A win-win-win-um, win!  

Good-bye to the gardener, and good riddance! I always suspected he was a brain surgeon in his old country because he sure was no gardener!  And since (unlike him) I can’t afford a leaf-blower, it’s all rake, shovel, sweep, saw and haul for me! Out in the Los Angeles sunshine the fat melts like magic! 

Meanwhile, the chores inside the house offer a fabulous, never ending work-out as well! Up and down that step stool building buns of steel! Wipe those mirrors and windows -- flabby arms be gone! Bend for towels off the bathroom floor, hoist the laundry basket! Push that vacuum, push, pull, eighty reps! Work it! Again!

And breathe.

Now, shake those rugs! R-e-a-c-h for those cobwebs! Flip that mattress! Then down on the floor to scrub, scrub, scrub! Feel the burn?  

And not only can this all be done without leaving home, I can do it EVERY SINGLE DAY! Switch it out to keep it fresh, laundry and leaf raking on alternate days with floor washing and lawn mowing! 

I think you’ll find that many of your friends and neighbors are discovering these perks of poverty! Look around. See all those empty shops? Where do you think all those workers have gone? Yes! They’ve gone HOME!

Why let the handy-man and plumber reap all the fitness benefits of repeated plunging and hammering? Or the house painter get all that great back and neck work? Why let the house-keeper walk away with your firm thighs and ripped abs? 

Chop that wood to heat and light the house -- unbelievable benefits for shoulders plus no need for costly electricity, you’re dead asleep, by dark! 

Disclaimer: When patching the roof and cleaning the gutters, do be careful on the ladder as the Poverty Fitness Regime does not come with medical.   

xo

Amy