The Challenge

Hello my sweets! It’s been a rough few months here at the Fizzy homestead. My heart crapped out on me. My mommy pirouetted off a porch and is still recovering. My laptop died a horrible death, taking with it most of my writerly possessions. I dropped my phone in a toilet at my first Midwest Writer’s faculty planning meeting. There was that creepy mofo in a gas station. I’m behind on literally everything. All the things. So, I need a win. I think I’m due. What I want is to write. And write a lot. Lots of pretty new words. It’s been a hot minute since I had the time to just sit down and let a story flow out in that magical way. Frankly, it’s been an age. And that’s what I mean to do. Write some shiny ass words. Lots of them. Last year, by freak accident, I woke up one morning with an urge to write a new story, and three and a half days later, I’d spewed out an entire manuscript. It was magical. It was bizarre. My hands were messed up, guys. Like, actual stiff finger claws. Totally worth it. By the grace of all the gods, this weekend, I appear to have no pressing matters to deal with. Nowhere to go. Nothing of import to manage. (Aside from the eleventy-billion things I’m behind on. Ignore those things for a mo’…) So I’m gonna write. I’m gonna write A LOT. Here’s my plan: After I fetch my sweet mini-lad from preschool Friday, I’m going to return home, hand mini-lad over to husband-man, and proceed to lock myself in the bedroom until Sunday night, at which point, I hope to have a completed manuscript. Last year it was a book in three and a half...

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If You Can’t Say Anything Nice…

Hello my sweets! Okay, so this post might be a bit angry sounding, and it’s possible I might bother some. But stick with me, I swear I have good intentions. Plus, I promised my sweet pal Hay Farris I’d do a Fizzy Pulpit post in her honor, so… I know most who read this blog of mine are writers, but this really applies to everyone who dares venture onto the interwebz. This is my solemn plea: Could we please, PLEASE maybe not be judgmental assjackets to people all the time? I see it everywhere. People making fun of people online in these pretentious, judge-tastic ways that seem to say how much better someone is than someone else because they do this properly and *scoff**chortle**snark* at those who dare do otherwise. And oh my damn what is with the rash of “news” outlets going full-tilt bitchy bullies lately? In one article they are touting how picking on someone is totes wrong and in the very next article it’s LOOK AT THESE BASIC BITCHES WHO LIKE FALL LULZ. I swear to you I’ve seen people post things like, “If you even remotely like this book/song/show/beverage please do us both a favor and kill yourself/unfriend me/get out of my life.” What. The. Actual. Fuck. Seriously, what even is that? Or maybe you post things that are important to you online. But see, I don’t agree with them so let me subTweet or write an article about you or post a passive aggressive Facebook status in your general direction. Now, I can already see some of you saying, “You are doing the same thing, Miss Hypocrisypants!” Ahh, but this is not directed at one person in particular. Hell, it’s not even regarding one social media platform specifically. Every day I hop online to check...

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“Trust Me, I’m The Doctor.”

Hello my darlings! Okay. Yesterday marked the start of a new series of Doctor Who with Peter Capaldi as the new Doctor. I have some feelings about it. I don’t think I can oversell my enthusiasm for my various fandoms, Doctor Who being one of them. I prep for new episodes the way some people prep for sports events. Instead of a team jersey, I wear one of many fandom-y shirts. I have series appropriate snacks. (My kids couldn’t understand why Mommy kept shouting “FISH FINGERSSSSS!” at dinner last night.) I watch the pre-shows. I get INVOLVED. And I’m pretty easy to please. I’m not the type who sits around analyzing the shit out of things I love to find fault with them. If I’m entertained, I love it. That’s it. So imagine my surprise when I found myself genuinely annoyed about twenty minutes into the new episode. If you haven’t seen Deep Breath yet, some light spoilers will follow. I went into this episode soooooooo pumped, guys. And not in a “anything would be a letdown after that kind of excitement” way, but just as a fan who turns into a giddy little kid when it’s time to play. For the first twenty minutes of the episode, I was distracted. At first I thought I was just being overly sensitive. Then I thought maybe I was focusing on it all too much. Then I wondered if maybe I was somehow misinterpreting everything. But no. By the 20 minute mark, I’d had enough, and shouted, “OH MY GAWD MOFFAT SHUT UP!” I had sat down to watch my favorite show, and instead, I felt like I was watching a writer’s commentary through the mouths of my favorite characters. A few minutes later, this was shouted: “JESUS YES WE GET IT...

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Attack of the Episode

Hello my darlings! Okay. So. Here’s what happened. It’s been an unfathomably busy summer here in Fizzyland. Lots to do, kids to raise, mom fell off a porch, you get the idea. All of this has sort of led to me being a bouncing ball of stress for the last four weeks or so. Example: At Midwest Writer’s this year, which I have attempted to blog about multiple times and absolutely will post soon, I cried in someone’s face when they gave me a pie. Seriously. Right in her face. My hubs theorizes that perhaps it’s because I’m doing all of my big adult life stuff all at once. Raising the small children, starting a career, dealing with aging parents. I won’t lie, it would be cool if certain things spaced themselves out more, but it’s life, yeah? I’ve been balancing the best I can, pie sobbing aside, and soldiering on. My porch diving mom had surgery two days before MWW, then I come home to a hubs about to leave on a conference trip, my daughter starting school, and GISHWHES all happening at once. I was starting to crack a bit. Last Thursday, I got a migraine. Not rare by any means. But this one was a dick and no matter what I did, it wouldn’t get even a little better. My migraine medication has written on the bottle that a second pill *can* be taken two hours after the first pill, but I’ve never done so. I know this medicine is hardcore and I didn’t want to like, cross the streams. That should tell you how bad this migraine was. It made me cross the streams. I took the second pill. And within about thirty minutes, I was fairly sure I was dying. I can handle pain....

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The Suck

Hello my sweets! Writerly peeps. Let’s chat. You know writing is hard. Anyone who says different is either A. not a writer, or B. a filthy damn liar. Sometimes, at least for me, I get so caught up in whatever it is that’s catching me, and I can’t get a word out. Not a word. Example: It’s taken me fifteen minutes and at least eleven different sentences to get this far in the blog. When I hit the wall, it’s full stop. There are no masterful manuscript words flowing, no blogs blogging, and hell, even my Tweets feel like 140 character cement shoes. It’s depressing. Wording is what I do. My head is still full of all the things I want to write, they just won’t come out. Or maybe it will, but it comes out as utter crap, not fit to be read ever by anyone, amen. When I’m writing, I have to meet my own level of pickiness. It has to be something that I know is at least in place enough to stand up to a solid revision later. It has to work on some level. If it doesn’t? I shut down. And then I feel like shit because I’m not getting anything written anywhere and to be quite frank, word creation has a very crack effect on me. The more words, the higher I am. The lack of words knocks me down to a very low level Summer. And then I wonder if anyone else grapples with such wordly debilitating feels? Being a creative type and personally prone to hyperbole, I immediately determine that no, it’s not possible for anyone to suck as much as I am sucking, everyone else is a real writer, a real artiste, and I will flounder in the backwash of the interwebz...

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