Monday, October 13, 2014

Writing vs Parenting

This morning was a little difficult writing wise.  I didn't force myself up until 5:15 and got a late start actually typing words into a manuscript.   Subsequently, I was sitting in the living-room writing and The Child woke up a little earlier than usual and  came right up to me about twenty-five minutes to seven, which pulled me out of the scene I was writing, and asked me if he could go get a fragile book to read.  I told him we could read it later and retreated to the Writing Closet (which is in The Child's bedroom).  I was both annoyed for getting pulled out of the scene, and felt like the Arty Neglectful Parent.   I did reassure him that we'd read the book, Macaulay's Motel of the Mysteries, later.

In terms of writing, I was writing what I realized I was writing a "Beautiful Woman Too Beautiful for Her Own Good" Story.  It's a story I started a few months ago and want to finis.   It's supposed to be a lightly humorous piece, but it's coming out sexist.  I thought about switching the genders of all the characters, but that wouldn't fix the "women can't help being vixens / women can't not give in to carnal desires" vibe.  I thought about making everyone gay--which seemed like a cop-out.  So, I'm clumsily writing dialog and keeping an eye on the "Talking Heads" meter.  Uh... 200 words and editing?

Work-out:  1.9Kcal on the bike.  Plus a slightly new routine with free weights; one of the trainers suggested switching from The Machines to free weights on the theory that one-size doesn't fit all.  I think she's right.  Also, I'm focusing on contracting my scapula when I do stuff so my shoulders don't drift forward and strain the stratus (or whatever it's called) muscle connecting my neck to my shoulders.

On the local wildlife front:  last Saturday, I watched a doe and her two fauns browse their way from the back neighbor's carport, around the corner of our yard, and walk between our and the west neighbor's houses.  They were looking into our windows.  I'd expect this sort of thing at my parents' much more rural house than our city house.
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