San Francisco

The pity party is over. I am myself again. But boy, it wasn’t easy. I don’t think I could have done it without private e-mails from three special people. Thanks to you all. You know who you are.

What hurt the most about the two comments? They were right. Something about having to go back from page 155 to page 72, conjured feelings of hopelessness. And I rarely feel that way. These days, MAYBE once a year for a few hours or so. MAYBE. Well, this year twice. My friend Cathy (with a C) knows about the other one.

I am ashamed of my reaction, but it was honest, and I realized fairly quickly, thanks to those e-mails and a couple of good nights sleep, that I would snap out of it. So I went right back to the drawing board (page 72 of Lucky 13) and started the re-outline. Excuse me, the re-re-re-re-re-outline.

The book will be better for it.

That’s why I love my writers group. They will tell me when it doesn’t work. It’s my job to take it from there. And, I’m doing so.

You read my meltdown. Now read me coming back with a vengeance.

I will NOT give up.

Storytelling is what I was made to do. And do it I will. And make a decent living at it.

To that extent, I have taken one helluva risk folks.

I’ve signed up for the San Francisco Writers Conference knowing that I will have to sell a story or two, possibly even the novel ... or create a book proposal of some kind that someone wants ... to pay for it.
I have just enough paid on those pesky credit cards to afford the conference and make the hotel reservation. I have to wait a few weeks to make the plane reservations, but I’ll be able to fly Southwest. Deficit spending. What a concept. Still, I am excited.

I’ve laid over in San Francisco a couple of times, but have never seen the city. I’m going to now. I don’t have much hair left, but I’m damn sure going to wear flowers in the remaining strands.

I won’t be flying back in time, but I will. When I walk the streets, eat the magnificent seafood and sourdough bread, my cousin Charles, one of the early AIDS victims nearly thirty years ago, will be on my mind.
He danced with the Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, the all-male ballet troupe. They were good. He was good. They were legit, and funny, and one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And it was both amazing and amusing watching males dancing female roles en pointe.

Random thought – my heart just overflowed watching my cat walk, sit, and start licking his front paws. Saw it coming a mile away. Now, if I can only tell when he decides to lick where his gonads used to be. :-)

My online writing class started again yesterday, and I’ve already posted my quick write. I’ve already revised two chapters of Catch a Falling Star, and am working on a long assignment for my group.

Damn! I’m feeling pretty good.

I weighed in at 270 pounds last Sunday, a total of fifteen pounds down since August 1. Not a lot, really, but I certainly haven’t been starving. It’s probably time to cut back just a little more.

And, one more thing. The length of these blogs is getting a little our of hand for my taste, so I’m cutting them back to less than 600 words. This will be just over that. Suffice it to say that I am writing, and am enjoying it again.Perhaps the meltdown was inevitable.

I’ll let you know next week how I did. Also, stay tuned for my new blog coming later this month.
BTW – If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend “The Social Network.” It’s the best movie I’ve seen this year.