Currently working on: The last of my Prism judging
Oh noes, I’m paralyzed by indecision. Do I write this blog entry straight and talk about my real writing life, where I go to my day job and come home and eat dinner and walk the dog and drag myself to the computer around 9 pm to write until I fall asleep?
Woo-hoo, blog post done in five easy steps! And how insanely boring. So maybe I’ll write about my imaginary writing life with the joys of tropical breezes, bon-bons and cabana boys, or maybe the sexy angst of stilettoes, absinthe and tattoos.
Wait, I’ll do it all. Kind of a choose-the-real-writing-life quiz. No cheating.
It’s time for Jessa to sit down and write something. So she:
- Finishes her morning yoga and rings for her majordomo to prep her writing area, a ritual that includes lighting lead-free candles scented with homeopathic remedies to inspire creativity and warding the door with a circle of salt to keep out the demons of doubt and any garden slugs that might think to wander through.
- Finishes her self-inflicted day-long sleep in an Iron Maiden and flays open a vein, liberally spraying the keyboard and monitor, which at least makes it harder to see the dreck spilling from her fingertips.
- Finishes relocating the last of the evening’s slugs from the pea shoots to a half can of stale Coors Light and heads up to her office to get 1500 words done, come Hell or Miller High Life.
Jessa gets some tough writing news. So she:
- Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then calls her therapist, chakra aligner and personal trainer for an emergency three-day weekend at her mountain chalet.
- Eats a bucket of cookie dough, then peruses The Anarchist’s Cookbook and Easy Three-Step Knitting Guide for a satisfyingly nefarious revenge.
- Eats a bucket of cookie dough. And has a glass of milk.
Jessa has a public appearance. So she:
- Retouches her roots, freshens her manicure and memorizes her speech in one night using a sleep tape.
- Tears apart her closet looking for the bunny slippers that still have all four ears and at least one pair of flannel pajama bottoms where you can’t see her long underwear through the 20-pound-paper-thin butt.
- Quickly organizes a panel discussion so she can stand behind someone else.
Jessa is visited by her Muse. So she:
- Quickly channels the Muse’s brilliant idea into the computer, in such a perfect state of grace she never once misspells ‘teh.’
- Binds and gags the bitch, drives her to the river, contemplates throwing the squirming Muse off the Hawthorne Bridge, realizes that’s way too obvious, and drives over to the Morrison Bridge instead.
- Politely gives the Muse the other author’s name when the Muse explains how she must have gotten lost, so sorry to interrupt, and you might want to consider applying the other side of your nose to the grindstone, just to keep it symmetrical, you know?
Jessa needs to write a blog post. So she:
- Selects a relevant post from her categorized and crossreferenced archives and clicks on ’schedule.’
- Hacks The New Yorker and Smart Bitches and runs the stolen articles through a resequencer that churns out a deviously untraceable post on how romance is a lot like quantum physics. (Hey, resequencers only really work on CSI.)
- Stays up too late trying to be clever and experiences varying degrees of success trying to delete most of the expletives.
There you have it. The glamor. The pathos. The randomness.
If you chose mostly 1’s, you must be Danielle Steel.
If you chose mostly 2’s, you must be kidding.
If you chose mostly 3’s… Yeah, that’s a day in my life too.