Saturday in the Parking Lot

Today was another day to run away from writing. I convinced myself that I couldn't wait another week with only one black ink cartridge left. Yes, each one lasts approximately three months and I changed it a week ago, but I like to be prepared, and my color cartridges started tripping the "low ink" warning, which means I'll have to use my last back up of color ink cartridges. Gah! It's a never ending cycle.

Regardless of my neurosis, it became the perfect opportunity to run away from home for a few hours. Most people think running away from home isn't a big deal, they do it every day. Work and people beckon and they put on their heavy coats and trudge out into the elements with a grumble. I work at home via an internet connection and phone line. When I'm not working my real job, I attempt to write, at least I have for the last year.

Getting outside gives me perspective. Time behind the wheel disappears in a mix of too loud music and plot holes filling themselves in. Sometimes it's filled with random garbage and obscene comments to poor drivers, but no one is perfect!

I ventured into the dreaded warehouse club that had the lowest ink price and ended up cutting another one and a half stops out of my trip entirely. Yes, it was worth it. $300 later, and my eyes jumping out of their sockets when the credit card bill arrives not withstanding, this trip was a complete success. Not only did I restock my ink supply, but they began carrying my brand and style of toilet paper. Some might say this is insignificant. TP is TP, as long as it does the job, who cares? Not so, my friend! It has to be the right mix of durability and softness and thickness so as to do a commendable job without clogging the pipes. Oh, and can I say, another club store discovery,  Salted Caramel Cocoa, you may have been the find of the day!

The second stop saved me another half of a stop by having an in store special on my cereal of choice.
This opened up an entire hour slated for driving through cluttered parking lots, playing chicken with other drivers and pedestrians who believe they are they only mobile beings in a lot filled to the brim. Add another thirty minutes of good fortune to miss the "oh my god, it's 20 degrees and a snowstorm is coming" doom preppers clogging checkout lanes.

With added time and good spirits, my car found it's way to a local chain restaurant. Four course meal? No problem. Until the creamy potato soup became my undoing. Rich and filled with bacony goodness, I wanted a vat to swim in. But alas, the salad came, as did the biscuits, then the entrée, and finally, dessert. It was a caramel kind of day and lunch was topped off with a piece of caramel cheesecake.

I drove home with the lovely thought of my one and only reader, agonizing over an upcoming character death, (Yes, I enjoyed her pain, I am that evil!) and vowed to spend the hours before the playoff basketball game writing toward The End. I reworked an entire paragraph. And played online. And coordinated late dinner plans that rivaled a military invasion. Now, I'm blogging.

Forty-five minutes left to write. Let's hope tomorrow is a better day. Or that I don't procrastinate until the new Walking Dead. Happy weekend everyone, and no one, whoever you may be. 

Catatonic writing

I have been working on this little project for close to a year now. At this point, rough drafts of a series of three and a half books are waiting for the painful editing process. I am determined to find the end to part four, and the series, before that happens.

That being said, part four is a slow progression. There are too many loose ends to tie in and incorporate to a satisfactory conclusion. The only deadline set is my own, March 9th, a year to the day that this story began on the page.

If I'm lucky, I slip into these states when I write. The sounds from my IPod blend into an unrecognizable din. My fingers find the keys of their own accord, and a seemingly blank mind wraps itself in the character's voice and races away. Much of book one was written this way. In book four, these moments are rare. Most of the time I'm battling another idea that's taken root so deeply, it inhabits my dreams in regular intervals.

Tonight, for a brief moment, I became Leena. I let her doubts and fears wash over me and spill out in a mix of emotional letters. She trusted me to give voice to the thoughts buried beneath layers of good intentions and false smiles. Tonight was a good night to write.

Not Your Ordinary Shopping Trip

I hate mice. There is really nothing complicated about it.

Their tails are unnatural. They are filthy and leave nasty little pellets everywhere. They get into places they shouldn't and chew through treasures.

Saturday I had a lunch date with friends. After leaving early, I decided to get some groceries. The shopping experience was typical of a large chain on a Saturday morning, until I got in my car to leave.

I started my Impala and fiddled with my MP3 player before buckling up for the trip. Jumping out of my skin just happened to be on the agenda.

Normal movement around my windshield wipers would indicate stray leaves or pine needles. This day it happened to be a matted gray stowaway that proceeded to climb up my windshield. After two seconds of shock, my reflexes kicked in and the windshield wipers sent the critter flying. But not to worry! It survived long enough to duck under another car. I can only imagine the surprise of some random shopper as a mouse scurried past their feet in the football field parking lot. Perhaps it caught a child's eye, and our wayward traveler was just in search of some sarsaparilla.

Wherever you are little mouse, I hope you are happy. The knowledge of your relocation is enough for me.