I'm gonna throw some photos on this post for the halibut, and then, I'm just gonna natter away for the same reason...
Sort of a nothing weekend, actually--take kids here, go do that, go buy this, internet yarn buy, yarn shop yarn buy... and then, wonder of wonders, actual KNITTING in a filthy house with a thousand other things to do and two feet of papers waiting for me at work...
And ask me if I give a rite ship because ah, Goddess, this yarn... I've said it before, but sock knitters, I'm telling you, for instant gratification, Mountain Colors, Bearfoot--it's sport weight and it's so fast and lovely and...(everyone look away, I'm having a fibergasm, be back with you in a sex I mean sec...)
Anyway, I'm cruising along on BITTERMOON--in fact, I've actually gotten to page 462--sadly, no end in sight.
It's hard--the more I know these people, the more I like them and want to write about them, and then comes the agonaizing... (many of you have seen this before--you can skip this part if you'd rather...) oh, gods, what if it's boring? Does it suck? Is there enough action? Is there enough (too much, definitely too much) sex? I can't get rid of the sex, my kids are just going to have to woman up and deal but how do I market that? Am I getting preachy? Is this family as interesting as I think it is? Oh, gees...did I make my point? More description... I've said it before (on the Harlot's site, actually!) but writing is like ripping your brain out your ear, turning it inside out, beating it with a meat tenderizer and grilling it to perfection before letting people you (often) don't know cut it into little tiny pieces and digest. (Hey... what's for dinner...oh, damn... it's mom's brains again... but today they look like Taquitos!) In short, painful and embarrassing and something it's really hard to talk intelligently about--sort of like hemorrhoids, really. Okay. Writing is like brain hemorrhoids--I think that's about as low an analogy as you can get.
Well, really, except for my adorable children and a picture of chocolate tunafish (my husband insisted I put them on my ginormous stomach, btw--he said that made the best picture--forgive me, I believed him, but he may have just been trying to get me to humiliate myself on the internet...) I'm sure you'll all agree that this blog entry has been a piece of wierdness...
Hope you enjoyed!
fibregasm!!! I love it. Did you make that up?
ReplyDeleteFab photos Amy. Great looking kids and those gloves...oh my....what's the pattern?
Beloved, you are not the center of the universe, and your stomache just ain't that big, so get over yourself.
ReplyDeleteYour writing skills, on the other hand, are that big. Get on with yourself!! Write, write and then write some more. And when you have done that, knit, because that promotes germination of new ideas to write!
Is it summer yet? Are those damn grades all done? May we initiate the revels?
Hugs to those darling kids, and kudos for the pattern. Bravo, Dear Heart!
I think writing is one of the hardest things to do (next to speaking in fromt of crowds) and I am in awe of folks who do it. Everyone thinks they can write but only a few ever do. I, also feel the draw of the yarn and needles and sometimes it is strong enough to overcome the sight of big globs of cat hair and dust bunnies and I ignore all that by sitting outside. One of my fondest wishes is to have a maid service come in and clean but I'd be too embarassed for someone to see how messy we can be!
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