stephen king is voodoo

today is my 4 year wedding anniversary.

it’s been a crap week off and on.  the kind of crap week where things are sailing along, happy, even keel, then BOOM – belly and faceful of nasty whatever. i can take a gut punch if i have time to clench, but this hasn’t been that kind of week. but with the lack of sleep, these punches could’ve been coming a mile away and i might not have noticed.

anyway – 4 years married, moving into a better mood and a better weekend. forget this week, it’s disappearing (and taking indian summer with it). thursday and the kid is a ray of sunshine,  eric sent me a dozen roses, and i have enough coffee to sustain me through this sleep-deprived exhaustion that’s like extra gravity, like in Slapstick.

who could ask for more?

NO ONE. and still, i’m getting more. i’m halfway through the first draft of my 2nd short story in less than 2 weeks – and this after a dry spell of MONTHS. last night after some stupid bickering and the cat taking a dump in the bed and not having solid sleep in who knows how long, i sat down and wrote a thousand words. half braindead but the images just fell out.

last week i wrote Teetotaler, killed someone else in an alley but was still pretty satisfied with it – AND satisfied that i opened a blank document and closed it with a story. asked angela a couple nights ago if she could give me some ideas, something that i could turn into a story that didn’t have a dead body in it. ten minutes later we had an outline, and last night it merged with an image i’d been saving (maybe i can write a story without a body in it, but i can’t write one without at least SOME blood).

what does this have to do with stephen king? fuck if i know, but he’s involved. i’m always reading something – i abandoned reading minimalists for awhile a few months ago due to the paralysis it seemed to be causing when i tried to shape a sentence, and switched to anais nin – unstructured, honest, sexual, freeing.  my brain relaxed, but still those blank documents, fingers hovering over the keyboard or rapidly discarding the scraps i was coming out with.

my sister gives me Lisey’s Story, and i fall into it. stop halfway through and write Teetotaler. finish the book a few days ago, and now this untitled story is already working its way out on paper. if i don’t owe that somehow to whatever relaxingstorytelling no-pressure gorgeous-image diarrhea-mouthed stephen king voodoo, then who gets the credit?

SO. happy anniversary to me, happy anniversary to eric, happy weekend to everyone, and apologies to Caroline for her fingertips, but i just can’t keep my characters clean…..

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