Speaking of mind blowing, on New Years Eve after that bottle of wine went down way too fast, I resorted to drinking Fanta and vanilla rum. Can I just say it was amazing? It was like a delightful creamcicle that made me want crab rangoons and a dance party.
And this was taken before I started drinking.
Anyway, I’m terrible at naming things. Even children. The Hubs and I didn’t discuss a name for The Toddler until I was in labor. We didn’t pick out a name for The Baby until the hospital asked us to fill out the birth certificate. Repeatedly.
When I came up with the idea for “Manuscript,” I came up with a title and a random paragraph. The title….eh. Well, the title was the basis for the entire novel but it sucked. Which is hard to wrap my head around, but there you go. So, out of anything better, I’ve been lovingly referring to it as “Manuscript.”
But today, I’m toying with an actual title. I’m horrified. This weekend I wrote three chapters (currently going strong at over 55,000 words and over 200 pages). And I named it.
Which randomly brings to mind the series finale of Golden Girls when Dorothy and Uncle Lucas (Leslie Neilson) name sex Freddie. Ready Freddie? I can’t stand Leslie Neilson. But I love Golden Girls.
All this needless build up to say my novel now answers to the title Anything You Ask of Me.
At least it does today. It’s better than “Manuscript.” It’s better than my original title that was really, really bad, but at the same time insanely awesome. Like a horror movie on Chiller.
In other novel news, that scandalous plot point I’ve been toying with since, I don’t know, the end of chapter one, I’m thinking is going to end up in after all. And what I mean by “thinking” is I’m probably going to write it tonight after I edit my submission for a writing contest. It’s been eating away at my brain and concentration all day. Which was, may I say, awkward when I zoned out and stated at the upper edge of my computer monitor for about five minutes. Luckily no one walked past because, seriously, I looked like Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters.. There is no Heather. Only Zuul.
Granted, it was not as awkward as me nearly falling off my shoes today by doing nothing more than standing still. This is why I wear flats most of the time, kids. I could literally trip over the line in the middle of the road. Or fall out of a pair of shoes. The Clumsy Stander. That’s me.