I got dizzy today when I bent over to pick up my purse. Yes, I ate breakfast (two plate-fulls at brunch, thanks very much, and yeah, I got the buddha belly) and no, I'm not pregnant. Actually, I think I'm fucking SICK. ARRRRGH. The snow is piling up again and I'm boarding on Friday, so there. I have to be over it by then. I guess it's early to bed with a book.
A friend of mine got a new car AND diamond earrings for Valentine's Day. For fucking VALENTINE'S DAY. I ask you, what is left to get? A new house? A star named after you? An island? For crissake.
The chapters got fairly rave reviews from the crit group last night, which makes me very happy. They are a tough crowd. This was my favorite comment--the one that tells me I'm finally on the right track with this book I drafted FOUR years ago:
I want to scream at Aidan, kick Kaelin in the butt, punch Jacob and Julian, rail at the gods, whatever it takes to make this situation easier. But you don't. You dig them in deeper. I'm waiting for the next chapters with baited breath.
The book is, for lack of a better word, cleaner. I've taken a big black trash bag and thrown out a third of the words, slashed scenes, and refocused motivations. I love the book even more now than ever. It's like seeing a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis in spring.
Sigh. Now if my head would stop hurting I'd get back to it.