Is it totally normal to be almost done with the rough draft and go “this is the dumbest thing that’s ever been written, what were you thinking, no one in their right mind would even use this as toilet tissue, let alone actually READ it?” And that includes my family and friends who love me enough to read anything I write. Because that’s where I’m at today. I want to stop.
This sucks.
Then I called my grandma, queen of all romance novels, who introduced me to the joy of contemporary romance (mom is strictly historical). I returned the favor by showing her paranormal romance. We have a very fine relationship, grams and me.
But, this is beside the point. I called and told her that I was not going to finish my story and I wasn’t having fun anymore. She gave me the hairy eyeball and told me to get my a** back to it. We were on the phone and I may be in Tennessee and she may be in California, but I felt the hairy eyeball upon me.
The hairy eyeball is only one step below the death-ray glare. Grams’ hairy eyeball puts the fear of God into some people, but the death-ray glare has made grown men cry. Really. Grams is a sweet and soft-hearted woman, but you don’t mess with her. She will kill you and make it look like an accident.
So, I will continue to write and deny all knowledge of this incident in the future.
I don’t want to be cosmically b*tch-slapped by the death-ray glare.
