Something to read as I work on my next novel.
I am blessed to be a part of the “essentials,” the group who has been able to keep their eight hour job during this age where the COVID-19 reigns.
It’s strange.
Besides wearing a mask and half a face of makeup on my eyes and forehead (top-half), not much has changed for me.
It’s surreal to live out my regular, pre-COVID life in a world with fewer cars on the road, strangers wearing dust masks (who don’t look scary and murderous), and a constant disinfecting of my hands.
Writers are faced with many challenges. What topic? Word count? Grammatical errors? Should this go on my lifestyle blog or autobiography? What the heck am I going to write about today?
Was my last post more depressing than humorous?
But the biggest challenge of all is finding time to write, to consult the muse, and tap at that keyboard. Here are some tips of the trade.
I am taking a sick day, dear readers.
It is shocking—I know—that I, practically a superhero by trade, could possibly get sick. I mean. What is wrong with the universe? What has this world come to?
I have the heart of a T-rex. I am supposed to be invisible.
It’s sad when things end.
An empty box of Cheez-Its. The last episode of your favorite vampire-romance TV show. The conclusion of love month. The end of a relationship.
We mourn and cry and remember the good times we had. But no amount of tears will bring back those precious cheesy-salty-crackery moments you had together. You can’t relive the awestruck shock over your TV love’s heroic sacrifice. You can’t go back in time. Soon, you’ll have to move on.
It has come to my attention that I overthink things. A lot of things.
Okay. Not really my attention, but my friend’s attention, who has now took it upon himself to ‘break me’ of my nasty little thinking habit, much as you would a dog who tinkles on the carpet. I believe he will be buying a squirt gun and a roll of newspaper next.
Do I think I’m an over thinker? Yes. Do I consider it a problem?
I’ve been thinking about that.
The art of chivalry is dying. BUT I REFUSE TO LET IT DIE.
It’s not weak to let a man be sweet to you. And you’re not a chump if you care.
Ladies like gentlemen. When a man is a gentleman, he’s immediately more handsome, more trustworthy, more respected, and more endeared. He is our prince charming, our night in shining armor, our hero.
But how do I become a gentleman, Rebekah?
I’m glad you asked, Bob. Here is your guide to being a gentleman.
I won’t go so far as to say I am a morning person.
*family and friends explode with laugher in the background, spit flying, heads thrown back uncontrollably*
I’m not.
If being a morning person means that I’ll smile or even carry on pleasant conversation, I’m really not.
Being a morning person, to me, means being a more productive human being and not feeling deranged and murderous every time my alarm sounds.
Two years ago, I failed my driving test. It was horrible. The instructor screamed at me because she realized her clipboard was inadequate in shielding herself from incoming vehicles (as if that was my fault…).
Praise God no one was hurt.
I was thoroughly traumatized. I never failed anything in my life, until that moment. I bawled my eyes out at Taco Bell, then returned for a second test, two days later. It was a man instructor with all the chill in the world.
I passed, hyperventilating and all.
I basically showed up at church, wearing nothing but my grandma’s old skirt.
And I got nothing but compliments.
When I wear this outfit, ladies ask me questions. It begins with an over-all praise, then their expression focuses. They step back, stare at my knees, and say, “wait. Is it a skirt or a dress?”
Yes.
It’s January 1rst, 2015, that perfect time to forget all the bad that may have happened in the past and look on to a future that is your open book, to be written in however way you decide to write.
It’s a great second chance.
Read on for your guide on how to make the best resolutions for this New Year.
