Of Pools and Yuppies

Not too bad on the writing last night - I got in about 1500 words of "Fish". The damn thing took an unexpected detour on me last night. I thought I was writing the big dramatic climax but it turns out it was just an intro scene to it, a false ending if you will. Surprised the hell out of me. The MC's think they won and that the BigBad is all gone. How silly of them! (Obviously, they don't know how truly evil we writers can be!)

I would have done a good bit more writing last night but the wife dragged me out to run some errands with her. (What is it with women? Why do they need companionship for the simplest errands?) After we got home, she and the boy dragged me out into the pool (under protest!) for a night swim before they'd let me get to the writing. I bitched and whined the entire way into the pool but we had a great time. The boy and I had much fun attacking (read: splashing) the wife from cover of darkness. (Heh heh! Cut into my writing time will you?) Consequently, I didn't even start writing until after 10:00 last night but I refused to go to bed until I'd finished out the scene, so it was all good.

I have a lunch seminar today, so no writing to be done then and tonight is Boy Scouts so I doubt anything will get done tonight either. I'm still procrastinating on getting the agent queries out. I have to pick up the new printer before I can do that and I'm also re-thinking my synopsis (yet again!) I don't know if any of this is really necessary, or if I'm still just frightened by the thought of actually putting my work out there to be judged. It's inevitable, I know, and I don't think that's what I'm doing but I wonder . . .

I was watching the news about Hurricane Dennis last night and I have to say I have a pretty cold streak in me. I saw all these home owners who were devastated by the loss of their multi-million dollar -insured out the ass- estates on the beach and I felt absolutely no sympathy for them. Listen folks, if it's that big a problem for you: move the fuck off the beach! Don't come crying to me (or asking for my tax dollars!) to restore your Yuppie Palace. The only people I'm interested in helping are the poor bastards living in trailer parks thirty miles inland who lost everything they own to that storm. Give them whatever they need to rebuild; I'm cool with that. Give Biff and Muffy a few mill so they can resurrect the summer beach house for the fifth time in as many years? I don't think so. Move inland if you can't take it. If you want to own these mansion so you can brag to your friends about your beach house, pay the ridiculous insurance premiums and don't come begging the government for aid when nature rips them down. Deal with it and shut the hell up.

Okay, so maybe rich folks get on my nerves a little bit. Comes from a lifetime of being dirt-ass poor I guess. I've got quite the little chip on my shoulder, no?

Ah well, gotta run. Busy-busy-busy day!!!

Later!