I told Kim that I would try not to be bitter about having to work. And by work I mean write because Julie and Kim and I decided to get together for an impromptu Sunday afternoon work session.
“We could do happy hour at Lure or we could write. Whatever you want/need,” Julie texted. (What I need is to write, yes. But what I want is to happy hour.)
Text text text. Yadda yadda yadda and blah blah blah it was decided that we would meet at my house on Sunday afternoon. So it’s a writing session with pita chips, eggplant hummus, and a couple bottles of Sauv Blanc instead of a gossip session with crab cakes, oyster shooters and four dollar Chardonnay.
That’s okay. I need it. I need it. I haven’t been writing shit lately. Which means I haven’t been writing at all, not that I’ve been writing a shitty first draft (which would at least be writing). It can’t all be writing gold. (Not that anything I write is gold. Or even silver. Hell, I’d happy to write bronze. Or maybe even some mid-quality pewter.)
And really, I shouldn’t even be writing this (word vomit/stream of conscious/whatever this is) post. I should be working on (the shitty first draft of) my next novel, the sequel to Frosted Cowboy, which should have come out a year ago, not be half written two (and almost a half) years later. But I’m not.
Because I’m stuck.
Or maybe I’m stuck because I’m scared. (Ding ding ding ding ding)
Because what if this book isn’t as good as the first one. (And some would say the first one wasn’t even that good – or in the words of one of my oldest and dearest friends – “It wasn’t terrible.”) But what if this one is terrible?
What if this one is terrible?
Then I guess I pick myself up. And dust myself off. And start writing again. (And pray that I can turn some shitty mid-quality pewter into writing gold.)
Every month my writing group has a 10 minute writing prompt. The following is my unedited response from our May meeting prompt. (I would have posted it sooner, but I accidentally left it at Kim’s house and just got it back. Sorry to make you wait.)
The prompt: Write a story about someone who can’t get a song out of their head.
“Sing, sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song.”
That is the song that has been stuck in my head. For years.
What the fuck?
I mean, literally. What. The. Fuck. With all the concerts I go to and all the music I listen to, some stupid AC hit from the 70’s is the song i sing to myself in the shower every day. When I’m waiting in line at the market. Doing the dishes. Walking my dog.
Is that song from the 70’s? Was it even a hit? Did they play it on the radio? You remember it, don’t you? La-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-la-la. Just sing. Sing a song.
Why? That song is so stupid. I don’t even know who sang it.
Maybe it was just a stupid Coke commercial or something. Great. I’m so basic I don’t even have a real song stuck in my head.
Maybe it isn’t stupid.
That line. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song.
Like writing a shitty first draft. Sort of. Just sing. Just write. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.
Just sing. Or just write.
Sing a song. Or, you know. Write another fucking book already. Or at least a blog post.
*I was informed by Laurel in my writing group that Sing A Song was indeed a hit in the 70’s, by the Carpenters. (Oh and also, they covered it as it was originally written for Sesame Street.) I really have to find a new song to get stuck in my head.
Unedited ten minute writing prompt from my last writers’ group meeting. The prompt: Describe “that moment”.
Oprah says you’ll have an “Aha moment.”
“What was your Aha Moment?” she asks. As if I’m supposed to know. But the truth is, I haven’t had one yet. It seems Oprah’s had a ton of Aha Moments, so who knows – maybe she stole mine.
“I made cauliflower mashed potatoes,” she says on TV. “Get them at your local supermarket.”
But I searched my Vons high and low and I could not find those fucking cauliflower mashed potatoes anywhere. Maybe it’s because I’m a Trader Joe’s shopper.
So it seems not only can I not find my Aha Moment, I can’t even find Oprah’s Aha Moment even though it’s advertised on national television. During prime time.
There have been times I thought I’ve had an Aha Moment. AHA! That’s what I’m going to do. This or that or fill in the blank, but I’ve never done any of those things. I don’t even remember what any of them were because I didn’t do them. Aha meet blazy.* Blazy is the winner.
So that moment? I’m still waiting for it. Maybe I’ll find it one day in Vons next to Oprah’s cauliflower mashed potatoes.
*Blazy is a term my writing group came up with that means being blasé about your laziness.
Four festivals and three concerts are more shows that some people will see in a lifetime I realize, but those are not my people. God that sounded super assholey, didn’t it? That was not my intent. I’m super grateful to have gone to these shows. And I’ve got more on the way this year.
Hall & Oates with Tears for Fears (OMG!) Adam Ant (OMFG!) Green Day (Finally!) Thomas Rhett with Old Dominion & Walker Hayes (Cannot effing wait). And something called Retro Futura with Howard Jones, the English Beat and a bunch of other 80’s throwbacks. (Bought for a steal on Groupon – going with Dave and the kids. Should be a blast.)
So yes, it has been and will be a good year for music. Because live music more than anything is what makes me feel so alive. And young. (Seriously, so fucking young.)
And fun is great. Important, even. But I have goals this year that I have not achieved. I wanted to interview more artists like I did last year with Matthew Ramsey of Old Dominion and Matthew Nelson of Nelson. But I haven’t. Because that takes effort and I’ve been busy with a new(ish) job and life and just trying to keep all my balls in the air.
You know. Like everyone else.
I’ve only written seven blog posts all year. And maybe two newsletters (which you should totally sign up for because I obviously won’t overwhelm your inbox and you get a free book. Or rather bookette).
I did write this piece for my friend Jessica’s blog that I’m quite proud of, but only because she asked. And really. It was just a reworking of a piece I’d already written.
And my WIP – the sequel to Frosted Cowboy. LOFuckingL. I have an outline (ish). It’s actually a great story (at least that’s what everyone I’ve told the plot to says), even better than the first. And I’ve written some of it, obviously. But. But. What?
I’m just busy.
And so damn scared.
Because writing is so hard. And what if it’s terrible? (And like any first draft, it is so terrible.)
So, sure. I’ve had some goals. But I haven’t really had a plan. And A goal without a plan is just a wish. I read that on Pinterest. Or maybe it was Twitter. One of those very philosophical websites.
Saturday as I was cleaning that pile off my dining room table I came across an article I ripped out of Sunset Magazine by Anne Lamott called Time lost and found. And even though I was “so busy” and I’ve read it at least a dozen times before, I knew that this article about finding time to write was exactly what I needed and I sat down and read it again and it made me cry.
Because Anne Lamott knows the truth.
It’s so easy to make excuses. To be too busy to write. Busy job. Busy social life. Keeping all those balls in the air.
I’m not going to stop going to concerts or hiking with my husband or (god forbid) Happy Hour.
But what if I didn’t work through lunch every day. Or let one of those balls drop? (Or two? Or three? Or four?)
What if when I get up at 5AM (and I do, every single day) I actually write a blog post? Or contact a musician’s publicist? Or stopped being so scared to tackle my WIP?
Maybe in six month’s time – when the year is completely over, I’ll have done more than just have fun. More than just work. I’ll have created.
And my year will be one that was not half-lived.
*The quote “A goal without a dream is just a wish” is attributed to Antoine de Saint-Exupery (but you can find it on Pinterest).
Hello there! I know, I haven’t written a blog post in forever, but a lot has been going on lately. Seriously, I’ve been busy!
In the first place, my blog got a well-needed makeover. Did you notice? What do you think? I’m still working out a few kinks, so if you see anything funky (and no, I’m not taking about the wrinkles in my neck in my new Welcome Page photo), please let me know.
Oh, and did you see that picture over to the right? The one that looks like a book with a picture of my legs on it? What do you mean you know for a fact that those are most certainly not my legs? Rude! They could be. (With several hundred hours of photo shopping and air brushing.)
If you still don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m talking about this:
In case you haven’t heard, I wrote a book. As you can see it’s called Frosted Cowboy and it came out on February 8th. As I write this it sits at 54,118 in sales out of over one million books on Amazon, which means it’s in the top 5% of their sales. That practically makes it a bestseller! (Number 54,188 with a bullet!)
What? No again? You people are terrible. First you tell me I have fat legs, then you tell me my book’s not a bestseller. I’m going to have to stop listening to you. Or are those just the voices in my head?
Anyway… Moving on…
If you’re interested (and you should be, it’s hilarious), you can buy it here. If you’ve already bought it, thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
And if you did (or do) buy it can I ask you one more favor? (I know, so greedy!) Would you mind leaving a review on Amazon? Reviews on Amazon are so important. To make a long story about the Amazon alogrithm short, the more reviews a book has, the more people will see it and the better chance it has of being purchased. (Number 40,000 with a bullet anyone? Who hoo!)
Also, I wrote a little novella. It’s a prequel to Frosted Cowboy called Love on the Rocks (With Salt). The eBook version is free. That’s right FREE! You can get it here.
I’ve also started a monthly newsletter. Well, I’m starting a monthly newsletter. If all goes according to plan the first issue should come out next week. (Key word: should) It’s called Live… Laugh… Love and will include a short slice-of-life story (I promise to keep it short) that will make you laugh (I hope) and a recommendation for something I absolutely love. Hint: it will probably be a book. (And no, not one of mine!)
As a bonus for signing up, you get to read another (super) short story in the Frosted Cowboy series. (Yes, I really did just say that, Frosted Cowboy series.) It’s called Tequilla Slammer. You can get it delivered to your inbox by signing up for my mailing list here.
So, that about sums it up. It’s been a busy couple of weeks. I’ve had amazing support and encouragement from my family and friends for which I am forever grateful. And I have to say it’s a pretty incredible feeling when your dream of having a book published come true.
I am so behind in my writing. Forget the fact that I’ve been terrible about keeping my blog posts current. I have serveral projects that I’m working on to market my book (a novella, a newsletter and some guest posts) and while I haven’t missed a deadline (yet), I am behind on every single one of them.
To be able to write you need to be able to focus. And it’s hard to focus when your to-be-filed/put-away pile looks like this.
And the end of your dining room table looks like this.
Yes, that’s an Entertaiment Weekly under a People Magazine. Don’t judge me. The smartest person I know sits down for an hour every week and reads People Magazine from cover to cover. She says it keeps her informed on all things pop culture. Not just what celebrities are wearing (and who they’re sleeping with), but movies, television, books and music (and there’s often a human interest story thrown in there too). It makes it easy for her to have a topical conversation with just about anyone. I prefer Entertainment Weekly. Of course both remain piled up and unread. (And I’m not just talking last week’s!) Which makes me unorganized, unsmart, uninteresting, and unable to have a topical conversation with anyone about anything.
But that’s beside the point. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was telling you how hard it is for me to write because I can’t focus. The clutter in my house is competing with the clutter in my brain.
But forget about my inability to focus. What I really need to be able to write is more time.
I get up at 5AM to do it, which is obviously when I should be sleeping. Or getting up to make the 5:30AM boot camp class at the gym.
So writing in the morning makes me tired. And a little bit fat.
But it’s quiet in the morning and that helps. I don’t like any kind of noise or music or distractions when I write. (It’s weird, I love music more than almost anything, yet listening to it when I’m trying to write makes me want to rip my ears off.)
Dave and Marley get up at 6AM and insist on interacting with me (as civlized people in families do), which gives me the perfect opportunity to shift my focus towards Facebook.
Sometimes I bring my laptop to work and try to write on my lunchbreak, but that means I go from sitting at my desk to sitting at another desk in an unused office when what I really need is to go for a walk and breathe some fresh air and clear my head of office clutter.
I work all day (9-6) and get home at about 6:30 and cook dinner. By the time we’ve eaten and everything’s cleaned up I’m exhausted. I’ll sit down to watch TV with the family and usually end up asleep on the couch (either drooling or snoring -or both!) by 8:30. (Did I mention I get up at 5:00?)
I’m trying to be better about writing at night. I recently told Dave that I have no time for new TV shows. I have to be more productive with my time. He took this as permission to watch Making a Murderer without me. (It was not.)
These are the excuses I give myself: I’m too distracted, stressed, busy, tired, fat to write. And yet when I don’t, I feel worse than all of that combined.
This post was inspired by this post and this post, both of which are better and definitely worth your time.
“I like your hair like that, Mom,” Marley said to me the morning after my last writers’ group.
I had it pulled to the side in a low ponytail with a piece hanging free in what I hoped was a oh-this-piece-just-won’t-stay-back messy curl, not a perfectly-curly-cued bridesmaidy curl.
“Are you making fun of me or do you really like it?” I asked. Marley can be sarcastic. And I wasn’t particularly feeling like my appearance was compliment-worthy.
“I really like it,” she said.
“Oh good. Thanks,” I answered.
I liked it, but I thought maybe I was trying to look too young. I wasn’t. I was just trying to look put together and semi-professional on a day I did not have time to fix my hair because of this:
This is what happens at writers’ group.
There are six of us in case you’re wondering. Though, to be fair two of the bottles were already open and already half-empty, so we really only drank four.
“So 3/4 of a bottle of wine each?” Dave pointed out to me.
“Uh, no. More like 2/3. What kind of lushes do you think we are?” I replied.
We meet once a month to discuss our goals, share our victories (and failures), support each other and give advice (like actual, useful, requested advice instead of buttinsky-who-asked-you-anyway advice). We also do a ten minute writing exercise each month chosen randomly from a writing prompt app. (Oh yes, there is an app for everything.)
Our writing prompt this month was “List 10 Reasons for not Showering for a Week” and we all laughed because Julie was coming late due to Back to School Night and would be missing the prompt portion of our meeting. And while I’m sure Julie has never gone a week without showering (probably), she doesn’t shower every day. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure none of us showers every day except for Laurel who sometimes showers twice a day (maybe to make up for our unshowering), but I’m only calling out Julie because she’d tell you herself. (Kim, Rina and Lexi might not want you to know their showering habits.)
The pieces were all funny and clever (because we are all funny and clever) and we had a good time with it.
It saves gas. In fact, I read in the book Gorgeously Green that the number one energy killer in a house was using gas to heat water. Or something like that. I read that book a long time ago. But the foreward was written by Julia Roberts, who won an Oscar for playing Erin Brockvich so whatever I read about using a lot of gas to heat water must be true. (Yeah, not a lot of logic goes into my 10 minute writing prompts.)
If I run I have to shower. (It seems like the polite thing to do.) So no showering = no running. For a week! Yay!
Alright, I admit, perhaps my reasons for not showering for a week are not that funny and clever. I think I was the weak link on this writing prompt.
And while I would never go an entire week without showering (unless I was camping), I did find it a bit serendipitous that the day after a writing prompt about not showering I went to work without showering and got a compliment from my daughter about my hair.
I love to read. And I love to write. (Actually I hate to write, but somehow feel compelled to torture myself by writing anyway. I’m quirky like that.) You’d think with all the reading and writing I do (which truth be told is not nearly as much as I’d like of either), my grammar would rock. But it doesn’t. It stinks.
If only there was a place that would do a grammar check for me. You know, sort of like an online English teacher at my beck and call whenever I needed her to make sure my formatting and sentence structure and punctuation were correct. Wait a minute, there is. And it’s called Grammarly. Yep, it’s as if your English teacher followed you home to remind you when to properly use lay or lie and was or were. (But this one won’t make you write a five paragraph expository essay on the theme of The Great Gatsby.)
Recently the fine people over at Grammarly took a poll of over 3,000 people to determine once and for all who are better writers – women or men. And it turns out that the ladies are the winners on this one. Hey, I like to read both male and female authors, but who am I to argue when over 3,000 people say girls are better than boys? Check out the results on the infographic below:
So you see – whenever people read what I write and think I take way too much time blathering on (and on and on) with my ridiculously long sentences what they need to realize is I’m writing descriptively. I’m developing my plot. And my characters. I’m being better.
Disclaimer: In exchange for writing this post Grammarly.com is donating $50 to Reading is Fundamental in my name. But please be assured that the belief that women are superior is not only held by me, but by 59% of the 3,000+ people polled above.
Well, Kim asked anyway. And since I want to be a writer like Kim when I grow up (you know, one who actually gets paid to do it – on a regular basis), when Kim asks, I answer.
She invited me to participate in a blog tour called My Writing Process (#mywritingprocess). My Writing Process is apparently a way to connect with other bloggers who identify themselves as writers. Yes, all bloggers write, but that doesn’t necessarily make them writers. (One look at Pinterest will tell you that.) I do not say that with any sort of snobbery or contempt (I mean, come on, what I write is certainly not literature), but to say people blog for different reasons. Some blog to show off their DIY prowess, some blog recipes, some blog simply to make money, and some of us, we blog to write. I blog to write.
So now I have to answer some questions and then pay this task privilege forward to three more writers who have blogs.
1. Why do I write what I do?
I walk around all day with a lot of chatter in my head. When I’m driving to work, when I’m running, when I’m fixing dinner my head is filled with incredibly clever and funny things to write. Things I must write. Of course then I sit down to write them and they escape me. What was that brilliantly funny thing I conjured up in the car on the way to work? I’ll think to myself. And I can’t remember. Or worse I do remember and once I type it out I see it wasn’t very brilliant at all. It’s torturous. (And trust me when I say that all writers are tortured.) But every once in a while that thing does work on paper (or the screen) and it’s clever and funny and brilliant (okay, I’ve never actually been brilliant) and that makes the torture almost worth it.
Also, I talk a lot (a lot) so I guess writing is just another way for me to keep talking when no one is around. I’m kidding. (A little.) I think writing is a way of connecting with people. There are so many times I read things and think to myself, “Yeah, I feel that way too,” so I hope what I have to say (or rather what I write) resonates with people. That they read my words and think, “Yeah, I feel that way too.”
Plus if you want to know the dirty truth, I like people to tell me I’m awesome. But people don’t tend to walk up to me and say, “Hey Charlene, I think you’re awesome.” But they do sometimes walk up to me and say, “You’re blog post was so funny.” Which is sort of the same thing.
So I guess I write what I do to quiet the voices in my head, to connect with people, and to fulfill my sad and desperate need for approval. And to torture myself. (And feel awesome.)
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Do I have a genre? I don’t consider myself a “Mommy Blogger” because I rarely write about my kids these days. At 17 and 13, I feel I don’t have the right to tell their story anymore. (Though every once in a while I can’t help myself.) So whatever my genre is – personal essay, lifestyle, or as I like to call it – “slice-of-life,” I guess what makes my work different is that they’re my stories to tell. The crazy chatter from my brain. Of course that makes everyone’s work different doesn’t it? I suppose others are much better at getting to the point. I’ve always admired others who can say a lot with very few words, where as I tend to do the opposite, which is saying very little with as many words as possible. (For example I could have cut the last eleven words out of the previous sentence and it would have had the same meaning, but I justcan’t! And this post? Waaaay too long. Sorry about that!)
3. How does your writing process work?
I get up early – 5:00 almost every day (yes, even weekends) to write. The plan is to pour a cup of coffee sit down in the quiet calm of my house and write. I don’t have an office, so I sit with my laptop at the kitchen table in my daughter’s spot. I don’t know why I always choose her chair over my own. Maybe because it looks out into the backyard. I open the curtains and watch the night turn to day as I tap away at my keyboard. Or sometimes I will write in a notebook – three pages, for those of you familiar with “morning pages.” I wrote the first draft book that way – pen to paper in the wee morning hours. Well, that is ideally how my writing process works – early, alone, in the dark.
Lately it is something much closer to what happened today. It’s Saturday as I start to write this and I’ve gone to bed late every night this week so I allowed myself to “sleep in” until about 6:15 this morning. I planned to walk the dog at 7:00 and go for a three mile run at 8:00, so I knew I wouldn’t have much time, but I wanted to get a few thoughts out. Then I went on TimeSuck – I mean Facebook, so no writing took place – unless you call commenting on the triumphs and tragedies and (mostly) minutiae of my friends’ lives and informing them about the triumphs and tragedies and (mostly) minutiae of mine writing.
After the Facebooking and the dog walking and the running I woke Marley up and made her breakfast and then took her to an event at school. I was home a little before 10:00 and Chandler and Dave had left for the day, but instead of coming back to write immediately I rolled on my foam roller to work out the kinks from running, took a shower (well, after the running that was fairly necessary), threw a load of laundry in the washer, stripped my bed (but decided I’d put my clean sheets on later), cried my eyes out as I read the article in the Times about that horrific bus crash carrying college-bound high school students to Humbolt, and then threw the load in the dryer (after taking the time to hang my gym clothes and delicates), and then finally sat down to write this post. I typed two sentences and the phone rang. It was Marley, ready to be picked up.
I picked her up, took her to the library, went to Trader Joes’s for necessities (milk and wine), came home, had lunch, and then went to her lacrosse game. (Marley was goalie, her team won, it was awesome!) We returned at 3:30, I put clean sheets on my bed, stopped myself from taking the time to do the pillow cases, and sat down to write.
Oh, I didn’t finish of course. I only had about half an hour before I had to do other things. So I got up at 5:00 Sunday morning and wrote some more (like I was supposed to – alone and in the dark). And now I’m finishing this early Monday.
So I guess you could say my process is to get up early under the guise of writing and then avoid writing as much as possible until I can’t avoid it any longer. I don’t know why I procrastinate. I think is has something to do with the torture. Or maybe so I can convince myself that my writing sucks because I “don’t have time” to do it properly.
4. What am I working on?
Hmmm… other than avoidance? Good question.
Another rejection letter, that was fairly constructive rather than the standard “it’s not you, it’s us, but really it’s you because your writing sucks” form letter, is forcing me to look at my novel again. What can I take out without losing my voice? How can I punch it up? Make it funnier? Make you want to read more. I’m actually considering changing my beloved first line -my hook- which I’ve held onto as if my life depended on it. But perhaps the life of my book depends on me letting it go.
And I recently wrote a piece for Listen to Your Mother that got rejected. Which is fine, really. (Though it does make me bitter petty enough to not give them a link.) There were only 12 spots available and I think that at least 14 people auditioned, so you know, odds were against me. In all seriousness, unlike the poorly edited drivel I usually post here, it’s a kick-ass piece that has a place somewhere, so I need to shop it.
And of course I try to post here every Monday, but as I’ve stated, the chatter in my head often doesn’t translate to my fingers.
Okay, are we done with this? Now that I’ve bored you all to tears if you’ve even made it this far (which I suspect most people haven’t – I probably wouldn’t) and you no longer like me because you’ve figured out how weird I am?
Anyway, now is the part where I pick three people to keep this tour moving. Picking only three people is very hard. Picking three people who will actually do it (and not murder me) is even harder, but here are my three:
Tina Drakakis – my soul mate from skirt.com. Yeah, I always pick her for things. Because she is kick ass and awesome and 1,000 times funnier than me, which makes me really want to hate her, but I can’t because I love her too much. Plus she’s been posting a lot to her blog lately, but I haven’t seen much that is new, so I’m giving her a kick in the butt to get back at it. She loves it when I do that. (Or maybe not.)
Rina Nedar – her blog, Mommy Has a Story, is quite lovely. You should read it. And her fiction is even better. Plus she started the writing group I’m currently in that makes me set goals and keeps me accountable, which quite frankly, I find a little bossy, so now I’m going to make her do something. (So ha ha Rina!)
Abby Byrd – her blog Little Miss Perfect is hilarious. She says fuck a lot, calls her two-year-old an asshole, and isn’t afraid to piss people off. I would like to say the F-word more (like I do in real life), but people have told me they don’t like it, and I don’t like to piss people off (except for the three people I just named, obviously) so I don’t use it as much as I’d like to in my blog. And as I stated above, my kids are older now, so I can’t call them assholes. Oh, and Abby uses a pen name for her blog, but one day when her memoir is published (and it’s great, so it will be), you will know her real name, trust me on that.
Get to work ladies – you have one week to expose your soul to the internet. But hey, you’re writers. You’re used to that.
(And for those of you who stuck with this entirely-too long post, I really do thank you.)
I wrote a post last week called Running Sucks (because it does), but honestly, what sucks even more is writing. Writing is so hard, sometimes I wonder why I do it at all. Sure when I run I’m out of breath and uncomfortable and hot and sweaty and miserable. I don’t sweat (much) when I’m writing, but uncomfortable, out of breath and miserable? Check, check, and check! When I run my body hurts. When I write my brain hurts. The blogs I write in my head are seriously awesome. They’re clever and funny and relatable. Trust me when I tell you that they are freaking hilarious. But when I sit down to type them? Meh. The words do not flow from my brain to my fingertips. They fall flat on the screen. I know I can do better, I tell myself. That word isn’t right, that’s not what I’m trying to say. Then I put my head in my hands and stare a the cursor on the computer screen blinking at me. Baiting me. Daring me to turn it into words. So I put my fingers back on the keyboard, take a deep breath, and I type. I turn that cursor into words and hate every single second and wonder why anyone in their right mind would chose to do something so hard and so terrible. Something that sucks so very much.