You know what would be fun? Adding all kinds of accents no one could possibly pronounce to your name. Then use that crazy business as your username on Facebook. Like "Mëĺĭşŝæ." Try to say it. Go ahead—see what it sounds like. I have no idea. You don’t even have to go as far as that—something simple like "Mèlissæ" would suffice. You could totally keep it simple. Then you can let people wonder if you’re being weird or ironic or if you’re one of those ones who takes things very seriously. (Sorry if I am being insensitive. I know some of you really do need an umlaut. Yes, I don’t really know what that is.) This has nothing to do with anything. I should be editing The Mosquito Hours but that’s hard and procrastinating is easy.
I went to my cousin’s 25th wedding anniversary party the other night, which was something of a family reunion, as not all of us are in the same room very often. I heard lots of great family history stories and I am blatantly stealing some of them for future novels. I texted them to myself from the bathroom so I wouldn’t forget. I have no shame. Don’t hang out with a writer if you don’t want to show up in some form in her work. We’re thieves, people. Unapologetic thieves.
This also has nothing to do with anything. I should be editing The Mosquito Hours but that’s hard.
And procrastinating is easy.
I should totally write a post about procrastinating. I have many good ways to do it. If you’re gonna do it, do it right, I always say. Oh, wait, that was Wham! (yes, you have to use the exclamation point—it’s their proper name... you need to take these things very seriously, people) and it was, “If you’re gonna do it do it right—do it with me.” My sister loved Wham! when we were in high school. We made up a dance to “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.” I wish I could remember it. We could embarrass our kids so much by performing it at family parties, the beach, the playground, various parking lots. Anywhere really. Oh! Target! I would totally do that. Does that make me a so-so mother? I think it makes me awesome. Someday they will appreciate my high-jinks. And speak of them fondly at family reunions.
Edits... I just have to get the edits done. Blaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh... I feel very fussy. Talking about how fussy I feel is another means of procrastinating. Boring you to death with this train of thought is yet another.
(I’m sorry.)
Here’s the trouble. I want to self-publish so I can retain full creative control, earn higher royalties and plan publication on my own timetable. Also, philosophically, the bad-ass in me loves a spicy renegade method and the New England Yankee in me loves the DIY aspect of indie publishing. But I also want someone to tell me exactly when my novel is perfect and do everything for me so that I don’t mess up EVERYTHING and RUIN MY LIFE!
Also the snotty little English major and holder of MFA in me wants Random House to sweep me off my feet and tell me how much he loves me.
(Does anyone do angst better than I?)
UGH... must do edits...
I wonder what’s new on Netflix? Oooh! The L Word—I love that show!
(Don’t want to do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing right now? Here—watch some Wham!) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6W0d9xMhZbo
(You’re welcome.)