Tuesday, March 14, 2006

!@*&%$!!!!

A few weeks back, I was sitting in various spots around the house and possibly in parking lots and bookstores, revising a story by hand. I can even see the blue ink in my puny mind's eye, the almost illegible scribbles, the arrows, the deletions, additions, and whatnot. As I recall—or maybe this is just wishful thinking—the revisions were purty dang good.

Well, I can't find the marked-up manuscript anywhere, and if you piece together the minutes here and there I have wasted looking for it today, I'm sure it adds up to hours. The worst part is that it's one of those things where I'm highly resistant to simply starting over again on the old version (which I have on my computer) because half of me is fucking annoyed and the other half is super fucking annoyed.

Bleck. You know? Just...bleck.

On the upside, my desk and files are now relatively organized. As are the piles of books and papers on my side of the bed. Piles of books and papers which I'm sure bug the living bejesus out of the spousal unit, but which he is quite good about simply ignoring.

And another good thing...playdate with Wily and Izzy at the San Francisco Center for the Book's Family Bookmaking Day on Saturday! Pictures, you ask? But of course.

3 comments:

profile said...

:-) we dont wanna see mama nest annoyed. if you can't find the manuscript, i can almost assure you that your manuscript will find-- you. the workings of the muse can be eerie...

(it happens to the best of us...)

Rebecca Mabanglo-Mayor said...

*hug* Did you look in the car? Or in with the kids artwork?

My stuff 'magically' appears elsewhere as it is taken by our preschooler to parts unknown.

In any case, I /totally/ sympathize with the whole annoyance factor, but you know what? You're brilliant and even if the new edits you do are not exactly the same, they will be brilliant too.

I promise.

ver said...

Ah, thank you for the reassurances and clapping of hands. Still no sign of the dang thing, so I'm reluctantly attempting to rebuild. Stop clapping, weez, before your hands start to bleed...

spyvz! (cuss word used when the patron saint of lost things abandons you)