sewn, rejected, submitted, requested and started

I’ve managed to add about ten things to my wardrobe in the last week.

No, I didn’t go shopping again…

I mended stuff I already have: Purple jeans, checkerboard 70s shirt, fluorescent pink 80s dress…and some other stuff that was necessary, but not flamboyant.

EARTHQUAKE! Just a tiny one, though. I thought I’d imagined it until I noticed the chains dangling on my ceiling fan.

Anyhow, rejection letters are streaming in–some for me, some for Jason–and I’m enjoying comparing notes with Jason. That’s what makes it fun. We’ve submitted to some of the same people. So far, he’s gotten better responses than I have.

But I did get a request to see more of one of my novels. I’m pretty darn stoked about that. That was my first written request and I’ve framed it. Ironically, I’d opened a rejection just before opening the request, so I’d assumed it was going to be another. Hell, even if I get a rejection from it later, I’ll cherish it and the euphoria that I’ve floated on for three days now. Life is very, very good.

And today…(I’ve saved the best for last) …today I started my next novel. I will easily have it done by the end of the year. (And no, that statement will not jinx me–this book is really that easy to write…’course I’m only in chapter one right now, things could change.)

I recall some of my acting classes back when I was in college (I was a lighting/sound/set technician, but required to take acting classes, too). Us budding actors and begrudging technicians were assigned a series of scenes that we had to re-enact for the class. I say re-enact because we had to take moments of our life and present them as slice of life exercises.

In essence, our characters were ourselves.

I found it remarkably easy to be myself…

I still don’t know why it was considered ‘acting’.

I got A’s on all those assignments.

And what am I getting at with this tangent?

My new book essentially stars myself as the main character, is based on a conglomeration of events in my life–although funny-ed up a whole lot–and is written in first person.

So far, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking down memory lane and writing an autobiography which is much more interesting than the way stuff really happened. (The truly bizarre stuff won’t start until at least chapter five or so–those events won’t even need funny-ing–they’re already bizarre.)

I might end up shelving this before it’s done. I might end up writing it faster than SR. I might even get bored with myself or finally identify with those budding actors in my classes who thought it incredibly difficult to ‘act’ like themselves.

Maybe they just didn’t know who they were and what they wanted. That’s what my scenes were all about. I was X and I needed Y, but Z got in my way as I dealt with A, B and C. If you don’t know who you are or what you want, Z is going to devour you and A, B and C will only kick you while you’re down.

Hmmm…I just unintentionally inspired myself to go write another chapter…

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