The Writer’s Life

I printed my proposal out last night, slapped it in a pre-paid envelope, and it’s going in the mail today. :cheers:

In other news, my hair dryer died. Which got me to thinking–if I made a kazillion dollars writing romance (pick yourself off the floor and stop laughing–I’m aware of how royalties work)–I wouldn’t have to dry my hair. I could be in my jammies and write books. Ah, the luxury.

But then I remembered last summer. The good news? I was averaging 8-10 pages a day of new stuff. The bad news? When a scene didn’t work, I would head for the pantry and eat potato chips. Or chocolate. Or whatever else I could get my hands on. And I often didn’t wear make-up for weeks.

I have a feeling that once I become a selling author, I will go through a transitional phase of slob-dom. Every year when I start teaching again, I lose a few pounds because I’m on my feet all day and I don’t have time to eat. When I’m home all day, it’s just the opposite. So, I’m slightly afraid of who I might become when I’m home all day writing fabulous books. I might be a character out of a Stephen King novel.

Now, if I could just teach myself to EXERCISE when a scene isn’t going well, I’d be a freaking size 2. (No offense to the size 2’s out there, but I hate you. I really do.):mrgreen: