Random Thoughts On A Thorsday Eve

Is that a Pittsburgh Steelers mug at my writing desk? Yes it is. I’m still RN4L (Raider Nation 4 Life), but the NFL is one of those things that binds The Muse and I now. Thanks to her, George Pickens’s immaturity problems are now my problem on Sundays. Ara ara!

I originally bought this mug for The Muse until I discovered she likes WS. She’s getting monogrammed drink ware, fitting for a cerebral woman that’s all about practicality, plus peppermint bark for Christmas.

For her upcoming birthday, she’ll get $100 in Ulta gift cards. She can either buy necessities or splurge on a salon visit. Her choice.

***

I mailed out Christmas cards on Tuesday morning, so hopefully they’ll reach their destinations in a timely manner. I tried to make them as personable as possible. Yes, I still love cats. Yes, my hand is fatigued from all of that handwriting. Yes, in one case the Red Lantern logo I drew in ball point pen looks crude because I haven’t doodled in decades!

I’m still waiting to hear back from Michael (My Secret Journey), and I hope he writes back soon. Even if I have to send his card via priority mail, I’d love to get one out to him before the holiday.

***

I’m in a much better mood as we get closer to the holidays, but there’s still a storm cloud on the horizon with my brother’s name on it. My sister is distressed for obvious reasons, but one skill I learned in the corporate world is how to compartmentalize things. If I only worry about the things I can control, then everything else is just a distraction in my periphery.

Trump will ruin the country? I’ve already done what I can to remain financially secure. My sister wants to sell this home on a whim? I’ll rent an upscale one bedroom apartment near where The Muse and Bert live, and I’ll invest my share of the sale proceeds when I receive them. My brother still wants to kill himself? I’ll concentrate on planning his cremation and funeral.

No, I’m not a retired, cold blooded assassin. I was a Senior Underwriter, which is the same thing minus the blood and violence.

***

My brother’s situation was a handy excuse to ignore my manuscript, but the real reason is that I lacked inspiration. Then I met The Muse. An ambitious, cerebral woman that doesn’t need you but wants you changes everything.

On Sunday, I gave editing Chapter One another go. In seven hours over a three day period, a bloated 2,500 word opening chapter is now a svelte, focused 1,550 words that I’m 98% satisfied with. Once this story is trimmed to 70,000 words, I’ll hire an editor to review it. After I make the recommended revisions, the next logical next step is to either get an agent or try to get it published on my own. Self publishing is a last resort, but that’s also on the table.

Why am I being so meticulous about my novel? One, I’m a Virgo so it’s in my nature. Two, when you’re unpublished being “good enough” really isn’t. Pick your excuse.