It is finished

Well I have done it. 25 copies of my newest story, "the way it was" sit upon my desk stapled and ready to pass out tomorrow morning. It's certainly been an interesting journey.
For those of you who don't know me or my past, I have struggled with what is called PMDD, or pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder.
Essentially, it enhances regular menstrual symptoms-- the moodiness, the depression, the anxiety--all of it. In simplified guy terms, it makes me 'bat shit insane.'
But let me tell you, PMDD has nothing on the mood swings and thought shifts I went through today.

Oh, this is going to be awesome. delete this. add this. I'm brilliant. I can show so much in half the pages it takes my classmates. Bam, watch this genius work. They are going to be so shocked at what the quiet girl in the corner can do.
*Takes break.
UGH. this is horrible. There's no originality in this. It's 5 pages of crap. I could have written this when I was 9. College has taught me nothing. I have nothing interesting to say. I suck. I am talentless and unemployed.
*Runs to Kroger for cookie dough.
I'll just add to the dialogue. This is better. I'll add to this character and change this and describe this. Much better. I CAN write! Oh, very clever. This is good. Maybe I'll get this published.
*Prints before hatred ensues.

I'll probably hate it tomorrow, but at least it's over with. Is this normal? Maybe I need to write with sedatives.

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Stay tuned for a mini-tutorial (usually what not to do) on distressing an old wooden secretary desk AND the lazy alternative to Halloween costumes.

The Block

Once again I have failed in my strive for complete organization (perfection). I have a story due in 1 week, and have not started. I have no characters, no plot line, no setting, not even an IDEA. Nothing.

In my defense I have started 3 different short stories for this class. I started one in the summer and decided it was too young-adult-I-hate-my-parents. I started another one soon after that, but couldn't decide where it was going. I mean how many ways can an adult stalking a child story end? The third story I got a full paragraph into before dragging it to my desktop trash can. So that one may not count.

Here's my problem: EVERYTHING IS CLICHE.
I can think up characters and settings, but conflicts...I'm tired of reading about love, divorce, death, drugs, blackmail, stalking, obsessions, stereotypes, life epiphanies, cold feet, abuse of all forms, adultery, running away, etc.
I think I'm just tired of humanity's drama.

This doesn't bode well for the writing of short stories. I can't write something evolved around complete contentedness.
So my objective for today was to take something realistic and make it different...somehow.
And thus, writer's block was formed.

According to Lisbeth Cheever-Gessaman, a writer at Suite 101, writer's block is caused by fear--and worrying about it only makes it worse. You can't think your way out of it.
That was my first mistake. I gave myself a migraine trying to think of profound story ideas. I also learned a few other things that should be avoided:

• Don't bring your crazed puppy on the walk around your block. You can't think if you're constantly checking for edible hazards (rocks).
• While it seemingly works for the brooding artists in the movies, drinking and cigarettes don't bring inspiration; they just give your breath a bar smell.
  
• Staring at the blank document on the screen---daunting, not helpful.
  

For a list of what you SHOULD do, read Gessaman's article
Ten Ways to Cure Writer's Block

Purse Problematics

Yesterday, I lost my credit card. Unfortunately, it took standing in line with a cart full groceries before I realized that my plastic lifeline was not in the side pocket of my purse as it should be. So what do you do in this situation? Do you put everything back? Do you insist that they hold it and you'll be right back?

I did neither. I walked off like I had forgotten to grab a carton of eggs, discarded my basket in a deserted aisle--- and fled. I know, cowardly, but I blame the ADT. It's responsible for poor decision making, you know.

When I was safely in my car, I panicked. Did I leave it at work? Did the Starbucks lady give it back? I searched the console and the floors, but no luck. I drove home hoping maybe it was in the pocket of my work jeans. It wasn't.
After throwing bags, clothes, and bedsheets around my room, I dumped my purse for a final check. It took several minutes of shuffling before I found it. Clearly, my purse needs work. As you can see in the picture, I have quite a lot of crap.But I have found the solution! (Because I really do need all of this stuff). It's a placemat purse organizer that anyone with a sewing machine can make. How cute and thrifty! For directions and more information on the place-mat organizer visit http://efootprints.com/wp/?p=2684