A Weird Thing

So, as I'm sure I've said a least a hundred times before, my husband is awesome.

And, no, that's not the weird thing.

It goes something like this:

Husband read my book for the second time and made all sorts of helpful notes and things in the margins, crossing out unnecessary words and scribbling little question marks where he was confused.  We sort of worked in tandem, me editing a chapter or two, then him reading some more.  It took awhile, but you know that whole day job and housework thingy...

Then all at once, he got way ahead of me, finishing it in one fell swoop.  He presented me with the manuscript binder with his usual and always heartwarming: 'It's good!"

Then it sat for several months.  Admittedly, some of those months I felt like curling into a ball and sleeping through my every-second-morning-sickness.  (Oh, wait, that's pretty much exactly what I did.)  Now, though, I have had several months where I feel great, even if there is a small life form doing jumping jacks in my lower abdomen all the time.  But I still didn't work on my edits.

I honestly, truly felt...scared of editing.  I really can't explain it.  I had a huge amount of trepidation about editing this manuscript again.  I didn't want to read it, or think about it or look at Husband's ideas.

I was convinced it was all terrible and trite and stupid and that I would hate it if I had to face it again.  Which is silly, because it is good, tooting my own horn notwithstanding.

It was weird.

Today I finally worked up enough courage to plow through the end of the book.  And contrary to my fears (duh) he only had some minor things he thought I should adjust.  Like one bit where I smooshed two different parts together and it was night in one and day in the other.  Easy fix.  Also, there were a few times I forgot a period.

Honestly?  Honestly?  I was all worked up about missing punctuation?  But I can't explain it.  I still have a vague and restless sense of disease when I look at the green binder, like I want to stuff it in my 'old scribbled-on manuscript' box I keep shoved under the couch (we have a tiny apartment and a futon with a foot of space underneath = storage!).

I am the first to admit when I write something that stinks.  Sometimes it stinks because it hasn't been thought out quite right, or the story is weak or whatever.

This is the first time I have irrationally wanted to just shred something and give up.

It is unsettling.  I don't like it.  I'm trying to blame baby-hormones, since yesterday I totally melted down despairing over my inability to make pie dough that rolls out smoothly while Husband gave me hugs and tried not to laugh.  Serious stuff, I know
So, I'm not exactly sure what to do.  Other than give birth to a baby.  However, as that is still some time away, I need some different ideas.  I like the 'suck it up' mentality, but that only gets things done and actually doesn't dispel my suddenly wavering confidence.

As I obviously don't have an answer right now, I'm simply going to congratulate myself on my bravery for editing at all and let the green binder sit once more.  I have one more chapter to work on, but it needs some tinkering and I don't think I can face that right now.

The things dreams are made of

So, part of my being preggars is that I am freaking exhausted all the time.  If I sit down on anything moderately comfortable, I start to fall asleep.  This poses problems for activities like driving.  Good thing its winter and I can blast cold air in my face.

Anyway, one side effect of this ridiculous amount of sleep I am getting (somewhat involuntarily) is I have been dreaming A LOT more.  And not just vague picking out socks at the store dreams.  I am having full on rollicking adventure dreams, which are not conducive to a restful repose.

I am trying to sleep less all the time and more at night, but even then my sweet slumbers are invaded by aliens and robots, a cross between Indiana Jones and James Bond, and I am always in a hurry, running from something, chasing something, etc.

I just woke up from one of these episodes about a monster/demon in a trash can chasing me through a high rise apartment building.  I jumped and somehow faked my own death, but was rescued by my husband, who apparently wasn't my husband yet, because then we got married.

Seriously, how can I get good rest for the Muffin with that going on in my head all the time?

Sheesh...

And Then There Were Four

Well, more like three and a half.

For the past few years our family has looked like this:

Me:

That's a statute of Aphrodite.  I cropped out the racy bits.

Husband:

Add a carriage-mounted machine gun to the top and he could die happy.

Puppy:

This is what she thinks she looks like anyway.

She is actually more like this:

Squirrels beware.

And introducing!

The Muffin!

Er, I don't have a better name to call it yet.  Husabnd voited for 'bun,' as in: I've a bun in my oven...

We have to wait until we find out if it's a girl or a boy.

And by the way:

I AM SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!

In Which Husband Falls In Love With A Zombie Slayer

So, I had plans to post this weekend, but craziness ensued.

Saturday I had a dress rehearsal/Concert combination that took up most of the day.  Then yesterday, after sleeping in a little as I didn't get home until almost midnight, I got up late and went to church.

And then bought a zombie slaying machine.

Shout Out to My Man, Disco Remix

Well, actually, no.  There is no disco music involved.  I mean, you could add some.  I'm not stopping you.  But there is none inherent in this post.  Sorry.

Shout Out To My Man

Yesterday, my husband had to go to the dentist.  Yuck.

He had to get some fillings.  Double yuck.  Now that we are all grown up and have jobs and things we can afford dental insurance, which is awesome.  I lurv dental insurance.

Anyway, my husband goes to the dentist.  I've been going to this dentist since I first got teeth.  He's awesome.  The husband likes him too, but yesterday...

For whatever reason, the Novocaine wouldn't affect his jaw.  His face and ear went numb, but his jaw never lost feeling.  After sitting in the chair for two hours while they gave him shot after shot to try to get some sort of numbing going on, husband was like: Just do it already!

So they did.  Two cavities drilled and filled with no numbing.

He's the man.  He's definitely braver and tougher than me.

Today he's at home reading my book for the second time.  He's the best.

E. T.

PS:  I've uploaded the released chapters of Untitled onto Scribd.com  I tried to get a cool button to take you there, but it's not working and I can't figure out why.  Also, I put the story at the top under a page thingy.  Enjoy!