So when I say novel hatred, I don't mean some new exciting way of hating I simply mean hatred of my novel and its many forms. It's like this beast that I keep hacking away at but no matter how much I hack, or thwack or slice, it still comes back to attack and torment me. It's relentless, immortal and pissing me right off.
It's like those lizards that can regrow a tail. Bizarre. Incredible. And frickin' terrifying.
Maybe if I find the right hacking implement I can get rid of it once and for all. Wait a minute......Would that mean I had thrown the computer out of the window? Deleted the whole thing? Burned the hard copy? Or actually completed an edit that I liked? Hmmmmm.
I thought I was doing well. I edited three chapters before lunch but then made the mistake of reading back through them from the beginning. I really liked chapter 1 but then after that it started to kick and spit, then bite and snarl. And with my cold toes and rumbling tummy it was time for lunch and socks. I closed down the beast before he could do any more mental damage.
It's so freakin' exhausting when you have already poured so much of yourself into a project and you know there is no foreseeable end to this. It constantly takes from you and currently gives nothing back. No ounce of support or a heads up as to which of the 27 edits are actually useful.
I may have got rid of the donkey of doubt but the beast of burden has happily taken his place. He scratches and claws at the seams of each chapter picking them loose, letting the stuffing leak out. Any attempt to stuff it back in results in a topsy turvy remake of what was probably a great chapter but you convinced yourself needed an extra tweak or two. And when this happens to all forty of them.....it's time for a melt down!
I know it's pathetic. I chose this. I decided this was what I wanted. Annoyingly the characters I created are so much stronger than I am. Saying that though, they wouldn't exist without me. So ha! In your face. I created you so....please help me! Get off your imaginary asses and help steer me to the light. I think this beast of burden is a water dweller. He's trying to drown me, dragging me down into depths of a blackened pool. He knows my phobias because he lives inside me, waiting for the optimum moment to strike, waiting for an opportunity to take me down, somewhere I may never resurface from.
And speaking of phobias leads me beautifully into Things I wouldn't Do for A million Quid.
Last week I woke up in terror - and also needing the toilet - from the fact that in my dream my mum had just made me touch a tarantula. This is how my bladder decides to wake me up. Surely I could just dream about needing the toilet, or hear a rushing waterfall and realise I needed the toilet. I fail to see how scaring the bejeezers out of me is a valid tool in this, other then the fact that it obviously worked, but then I couldn't sleep for around 3 hours afterwards due to tarantula thoughts.
Apologies. I realise girl scared of spider is such a huge stereotype but I am actually terrified. They have way too many legs, they move and they can be really big and hairy and they can bite and kill you and urgh! We were at the cinema the other day, saw the trailer for the new Jennifer Anniston film and there's a massive tarantula that bites a kid and then falls out of his trousers. I scream and jump out of my seat whilst everyone else laughs. Immediate terror. I couldn't look and then I thought about it for the rest of the night. Then my bladder obviously cottoned on to this and ......the rest is....the previous paragraph.
Then as I lay awake for the wee small hours of the morning, exhausted and unable to sleep, I thought about all the things I wouldn't do, even for a million quid, because money can do a lot of things but it can't erase fear!
I would not:
- Touch a tarantula
- Hold a tarantula
- Let a tarantula crawl on me
- Be in a room full of spiders
I also would not:
- Swim with sharks, whether in a cage or not. They're big bastards and they might eat me. (Come on, that one's not even irrational. That's just common sense.)
- Be dropped in the middle of the ocean. I would actually have a panic attack and drown. I had a panic attack in the swimming pool at Kentish Town once I knew my feet could no longer touch the bottom. (Pathetic I know. I used to be a great swimmer too. But it's fine. There would probably be sharks in there anyway so I covered that above.)
- Go in a submarine. Again these are all linked. Deep water. Terrifying. Never getting out. Drowning. It all makes sense if you think about it.
"What? Not even for a million pounds? I'd let one bite me for a million pounds." A classic quote from the mouth of the bride, on all things spidery.
We also had the classic: "I'm not sure I could touch a snake." From the mother of the bride, which sounded like steak. I said, "Steak?" Then the rest of the weekend consisted of pointing out steak houses and asking if she would touch one.
Auntie of the Bride said she wouldn't do 'anything' for a million quid, it would depend what they asked her to do. Sensible.
But all this nonsense led to a quote book of the weekend, which will be out of context for some of you but hopefully still rather funny:
- "I'd rather be sociable than alive." NH on non-use of seat belt on the coach. (tut tut)
- "Even when I'm fat my feet are nice." Observations on the bride, by the bride.
- "I love lettuce me!" Mother of the bride enjoying her mostly cos lettuce chicken salad.
- "When the riot shields come up I can't handle it." Mother of the bride on Billy Elliot musical.
- "My legs are so skinny I'm like a spider." Bride enjoying a photo of herself.
- Bride "Can I write in your book?" Me. "No. Absolutely not!"
- "Head Shoulders Hips and Knees." NH sporting the new song for Wrightington Hospital, Hip and Knee specialists.
- "I had a perm once and it was horrific." Bride reliving past glories.
- "I'm not being funny but what is the vegetarian option?" Stressing the bride out with four weeks to go.
- "I don't even know how to use a pen." Bride after a few large glasses of wine.
- "I love a tomato." Bride during her hang over breakfast.
- "Do you know what I think is really underrated? Kit Kats. A four finger is underrated." Bride on her love of Kit Kats
- Bridesmaid's mum. "He's your brother." Bridesmaid. "Yeah but he's an arrogant little turd."
- "It's okay. ? doesn't know he's a dickhead." Slightly censored quote from the bride. She probably won't remember this one.
- "You tramp." Bride to bridesmaid.
Well that was fun anyway and it at least distracted me from the sorry state of my - loosely termed - novel. Now it's back to the grind stone or back to wallowing in self pity or possibly some ritualistic burning....though we do have quite sensitive smoke alarms. Hmmmmm. Maybe not then. But I probably shouldn't look at it again today, at least not until later when my rage has dissipated.
I want chocolate. That will help. Surely. Though I don't want to be fat and thirty and I only have till Sunday to fend off the fat. Hmmmmm.
It's lovely and sunny outside so why are my feet so cold that I had to put socks on?
Anyone with tips on defeating the beast of burden please enlighten me. He's a big bugger and he's dragging me to a place I don't want to go, despite my protestations. HELP!
Have a great Tuesday