I mentioned earlier this week that I started my next novel, which is crazy exciting and a nice change of pace from editing the same crap I’ve been editing since January. Kidding. My novel isn’t crap. But I’m sick of reading it.
What I neglected to mention was, in the midst of listening to the song “Smells Like a Freak Show” which, might I add is classified as Swedish Death Metal and probably not what you’d expect me to be listening to on a general basis, I was struck by a notion. A notion of contemporary….well, it’s contemporary something. It might be paranormal romance. It might be New Adult. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it’s three pages of an untitled manuscript staring at me every time I click over to the desktop. It’s taunting me.
Bizarrely, I have a difficult time writing contemporary. I can’t explain why. You would think seeing as how I live in the present day (Lord know where my brain is half the time), I’d be able to write some seemingly convincing present day material. I can’t. Maybe I limit myself, but sometimes I feel like I can’t come up with an adequate plot line. Or convincing plot turns. These three little pages, though, are kind of cool. I can’t explain why, but I actually have a plot line in mind. And yes. Before you ask it does revolve around history, but history as history, not history as present day. And yes. I realize that last sentence probably makes no sense. It’s Friday. It’s late. It’s been a long week.
This week’s writing tally: Three pages of Random Contemporary written. A page and a half of Historical Fiction written.
I’m a little scandalized that I got more work done on Random Contemporary. Up until this point, the ideas I had for the new historical fiction were insanely overwhelming and distracting. I had a rough plot line already drummed up in my brain. Now it’s taken a back seat!
It’s been a week for weird. I got a text from The Hubs earlier this week indicating he found two snakes in the back yard and one in the shed.
Now. We live in a little woodland shanty. There are trees everywhere. There are, I assume, bajillions of little woodland creatures everywhere and they are more than welcome to stay where they’re at, since normally “where they’re at” is in the woods. Not standing in the yard.
Or, in the case of the snakes this week, mating outside The Toddler’s window.
The Hubs…well, let’s just say he dispatched of them. That’s the polite thing to say. He relayed this information to me and said, “But don’t worry, I took care of it.”
“Snakes are not cool.” I replied. “I don’t like the idea of snakes that close to the house.”
His response: “How do you think I feel?”
I think you feel like you were in the Army and this is just a minor convenience. They aren’t velociraptor. They’re nonvenomous snakes who eat mice and keep said mice from getting into the house and giving us bubonic plague.
He then informed me, “I was looking up online how we can establish a perimeter.”
Establish a perimeter.
All of a sudden the conversation went from me being concerned about the Rowdy Boys to me feeling like I was in an episode of The Walking Dead. Except I was at work. And there was no Norman Reedus running around all sweaty and attractive. Luckily there were snacks on hand because boy howdy. I didn’t even know where to begin. As a matter of fact, I still don’t. My rationalization for vetoing the perimeter is solely based on the rock solid logic of Jurassic Park: Life finds a way. Establish a perimeter? They’ll just parashoot in. No doubt.