Naked and Bleeding

I ordered hardcopies for my beta friends around me that were curious how Mutants and Curse Me A Story had changed... at the same time, I ordered a copy of "Secrets of Stone and Skin" which is the gargoyle/OCD book. On Wednesday, all of the copies arrived and I left them with my friend Stephanie and, I suspect, she'll assume she can just pass them on to the other people that normally ask to beta for me. On the surface, it's a normal pattern and she probably assumes that I've got a thick skin for anything other than unfounded or harsh criticism. Actually, most non-writers probably assume something like that if they're asked to beta read.

I know that most writers compare their manuscripts to babies... and, in some ways, I can't disagree. On the other hand, I was reading "The Picture of Dorian Gray" a few months back and Oscar Wilde tackled the feeling I get when I'm passing on a manuscript to betas.

The artist that paints Dorian's picture says: "Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul."

Later, Basil recants this and says, "I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour--that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him."

In both instances, it describes exactly how I feel about this particular manuscript. On the one hand, I feel naked just that it exists... that I wrote it. On the other, it involves gargoyles, among other things, so I should be able to distance myself from it and say, "It's a story not an autobiography." Even if it didn't involve either gargoyles or OCD, though, the reality is that I'd feel obvious and naked. It's a weird paradox involved in being a writer. You pour your soul into things and want to share them, but it makes you feel so completely vulnerable.

On a less awkward vein, my Nano novel is coming along well. I've reached nearly 16K despite yesterday being rather a wash due to it being a school holiday and T being so completely manic and out of control.

I'm about one month off my OCD meds now, I think. Getting off the meds involves nearly as many side effects as being on them. One particularly nasty side effects is a pins and needles sensation in my limbs and them constantly "falling asleep" if I'm not moving every minute or so. Several dozen times a day I have to deal with that painful paralysis that comes with that. This side effect can last up to a year, but I don't expect to be off my meds that long. My memory has drastically improved and I feel more like "me" now that I've been writing again. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to write without being on meds.

Speaking of which... I should really get to that or cleaning.

Le sigh.

I hate cleaning.

Them days--they move.

Wow. I have so much to get done before my kids get out of school for winter break--and they only have seven days left of school. Yikes. Super yikes!

So, Honor Among Thieves--there is no way I'll get to much of the revisions needed before the holidays. Ugh. I'm going to get thrown in with the January New Year's resolution crowd.

On Honor Six--I finished but my sister, Heidi, wants me to add action into the first 30 pages. (The muse says no. She says she is done with Honor Six. The muse has spoken.)

On Honor Seven-- Why? Why must new ideas swamp my brain so soon after old ideas have left? It's a cruel sort of victory of obsession over control. It happens every time. I keep thinking that I'll be able to catch up on my life--but no.

Chosen Changeling-- The one my sister wants me to finish next. This would be a stand-alone book on the currently popular subject of fairies. The muse is completely silent. NOTHING. I got nothing. I read through what I had--thinking that I'd be able to jump back into it. Nothing.

I didn't try my Dystopian because Honor Seven plot started swamping me.

The muse is cruel and twisted and just soooo wrong. Wrong, I tell you! Wrong!

Yes, it's a beautiful and wonderful gift to be able to write so fast. Yes, it's an awful curse to be able to write so fast that there are always new things that skip into my mind and demand my attention if I want to get any sleep--ever.

This Friday is the husband and my anniversary. I'm hoping to have the house clean for our anniversary. Yes, it's sad that this is so significant and would be an actual "gift" to him. Sickness and writing have taken precedence. The muse is cruel to the husband also. My sister suggested he take the day off and we sit around naked and watch movies. I must be old and married because that just sounded breezy and uncomfortable instead of sexy. Plus, having naked butts on the sofa--weirdness--lots of weirdness. Nakedness is less exciting than it's made out to be in my opinion. Skin gets all uncomfortable pressed up against other skin. It's like sitting on vinyl in a short skirt in summer. I firmly believe if the Garden of Eden hadn't been perfect weather--Adam and Eve would have discovered clothing long before Lucifer came along.

Okay. That's possibly too much information.

Anyway, so I've got to get busy cleaning. So, unplugged may continue.

I did have to say something super special happened today. It was the cutest thing ever.

B has Classic Autism (this isn't the cute part) and when she was diagnosed six years ago, I asked the doctor if she'd ever get married and have a family. He was silent for a moment before he said, "If she does, she might marry another Autistic person. I have high hopes that she might be able to hold down a job some day." The world crashed down on us during that appointment. B has exceeded the expectations of most everyone. Today, I dropped her off at her school and got out to go walk the kids to the crosswalk. This boy from her class comes running over, shouting her name. He walked beside her and waited at the crosswalk when she got a little behind--all while talking to her and saying her name over and over and trying to make eye contact to get her attention on him. He was walking close enough to bump shoulders with her and his focus was all on her. At eight years old, B is into the segregation of sexes phase of schooling due to cooties--the exception being, of course, when a boy likes a girl. B has a boyfriend--only she has no idea--which made it cuter. She tends not to notice things like that--at all. The more she seemed oblivious--the harder he tried to get her to smile at him. I couldn't stop smiling after that. How full of sweet is that? It was adorable.

Okay, well, I might sneak in a few minutes of writing before tackling my house. Ugh. Blech. Yuck. I hate cleaning. I'd rather have dental surgery than clean. Seriously. At least, then, they give you the good drugs to make it go by faster.

Le sigh.

Have a good Wednesday everyone!

Ta!