Set that shit down and walk away...

For me, the hardest thing about writing is that I become enamored with my stories. I love going back and reading my old work and this sometimes interferes with getting started on new work. If I went back and read every old story and fragment I've written, I'd lose two weeks of work easily. And I've found that I can get a lot of writing done in two weeks.

Not only do I love reading it, I love playing with it. Tweaking this scene, adjusting that language, adding or deleting parts. There goes another week or more just messing around.

I even love taking my characters and putting them in new places. my current project is actually just another two months in the life of my immortal daemon. I don't remember exactly when I conceived him but it was more than ten years ago. He started out as a short story. Then he was in a second short story which became a 65,000 word novel and now he's in a second novel which promises to be longer still. This is less of a time suck because at least I'm producing new material.

Sometimes I have to take my notebooks and put them away for a while just so I can get on with something new. I wonder if other writers are this pathetic or if it's just me.

Words Are Things.

The list of things that piss me off is long and varied. The situation happened several weeks ago but is still topping my list this week, hence the post.

If you are lucky enough to have a partner who takes care of you, do not whine that they don't bring you flowers. Romance is nice, but it doesn't pay the bills, get the kids off to school or hold your hair out of the way while you pray to the porcelain god.

If romance is higher on your hierarchy of needs than the current support your partner provides, then quit whining and kick them to the curb. Surely you'll be able to find someone who wants to bring you wine and chocolate (or beer and pork rinds--whatever).

I realize that I have the benefit of the long view. Twenty-five years of marriage provides you with a great deal of pretty excellent life-lessons. Gifts are nice, but I'd rather have a man who stands beside me even when I'm sick, drunk, and moody. Especially if he can withstand all three happening at once.

I am lucky. My man likes to surprise me--even if it's just with a chocolate crucifix during PMS week. But even if he didn't, I've got twenty-five years of compassion and tolerance and that means more to me than a love poem ever could.

Case in point. I've had migraines for about twenty years now. Two to four episodes a month lasting one to three days. Do that math. When I'm down for the count, not only does he take care of himself but he watches over me. When the offspring was little, he'd take care of him as well. That in addition to putting up with the shitty, whiny, self-pitying moods that go along with visits from Mme. Migraine. If this was all he did, he'd be worth twice his weight in gold.

I'm not saying he doesn't have his faults. I'm not saying he doesn't make me mad. I'm saying that even when I'm angry, nothing outweighs our relationship. We are more than the sum of our parts and I would be less of a person on my own.

If you're unhappy with your relationship, either work to make it better or end it, but don't whine about it. Especially not publicly. Words are things. If you broadcast that you don't appreciate your partner, you can bet that somebody reading it will be happy to take them off your hands.