Most of the show choir directors I make out with are gay*
I just read something on a blog feed that said turning on a light in the middle of the night to use the restroom helps screw up your circadian rhythm and increases your risk for cancer. I flipped the monitor off.
Up again with pain. Tired of it. Don’t know what to do about it. I think I’m giving it until May 1 to sort out or I go to the doctor and ask for sleeping pills and Cymbalta (the latter of which in particular is supposed to help my kind of chronic pain, maybe). Not wild about this because I think Cymbalta has a high chance of killing my muses. But I think if this pattern of the last two months continues I will start bursting into tears at Target when I look at toothpaste. I’m not wild about this little crossroads. I don’t know what to do with it. What I do know is that I woke up from henious hip pain but am now dealing with cranky shoulders. Also, the Vicodin I took is making me want to throw up. GOOD TIMES.
But it’s quite depressing to talk about. So let’s not.
Other things. Well, yesterday I was all set to jump back in to Two to Tango, which is of course why I sat down and did the prep work for a Sam and Mitch novella. I’ve wanted to do this ever since I finished Special Delivery, to go back and write the wedding, because it seems to me there’s a story there. Certainly Delia is involved. I have it all set up too, the music, the collage and everything, but right now I’m trying to sort out WHEN the hell it happens. Nothing like being all boxed in by your own published work. Double Blind is two years after Special Delivery (I used Soap Opera time, since it was only two months later in publication time), Mitch proposed in October, and Sam said in DB that they got married on Valentine’s Day. But Crabtree made it sound like he’d met them before, several times, unmarried. But I don’t know how long Mitch would wait. If he waited, why? I figure somewhere in the middle of all that is the story. Right now I have 150 words which I now thing are wrong, but it was a nice start. I do know what their tuxes look like, though.
Oh, you’ll want the collage. Except if you’re on Twitter and follow me, you already saw it.
This one is going to be in the POV of Mitch. Which will be something different. I was flummoxed for several hours because Mitch wanted music I didn’t have, or had very little of. Like, Metallica. Apocalyptica. And then there was this vast empty mental space of… huh? Handily, stepped in for the win. I am now listening to all manner of artists I didn’t even know existed. Plus some Afro Celt Sound System, Zero 7, Theivery Corporation, and a smattering of Blue Stone, Enigma, and a few other tidbits I already had.
And no sooner did I get all that down but this morning Two to Tango started talking to me again. So apparently I just needed to sow the seeds. This will be a novella, anyway, and those tend to come out suddenly and all at once.
Speaking of novellas: I posted a teaser bit of The Sweet Son. I think it stripped out all my italics. Oh well.
Of course we must also talk about Glee. Plotwise, I think they were all on Speed, because the episode’s writing and pacing had the feel of someone who had been up too late at night and chewing on the curtains. Still. Wonderful one-liners, especially by Sue. Ah, my beloved Sue. And let us not forget to revel in Kurt’s look of lust as Finn sang his solo. Or the Vocal Adrenaline coach. Or the piano bar in the bookstore/library/whateverthehellitwas.
And there’s no other way this post can end except to embed this:
*I am quoting Glee. I would never make out with a show choir director.