SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: It's Party Time! [Writers are masochistics. Pass me a Valium]

Cue your favorite music - it's PARTY TIME! Why? Because I finished Draft #4, baby!!! [Nobody cares.] What a freaking relief that was! The key was definitely the simmering. I may not have a clue in the kitchen, but with my story, I can simmer like a rock star. ["May not have a clue in the kitchen" = understatement of the millennium.]

I will read through my finished novel once more out loud to my kitties and my muse, and then I'll send it off to Awesome Agent for her praise and compliments. [My name is Debbie, and I am delusional. I haven't had a delusion in, oh wait, never mind.]

Now that I'm done trudging through the Valley of Pain and Suffering, I can say this without hesitation: Writing is fun! I can't wait to do it again! It's easy; everyone should try it! [All writers are masochists. Pass me a Valium.]

Since Draft #4's in the history books, I no longer have to spend every spare moment banging my head trying to figure out how to bring the plot together or how to tie up loose ends. I'll read through once more with only the lightest of edits [see above SM re: delusions], and pass it along to AA for her shimmering stamp of approval. ["Hmm, pumpkin. It's good, but you're not quite there yet..."]

Then, we'll sell it for big bucks and I'll retire to a chalet in the south of France, or perhaps a mega-large beach-front cottage in Tahiti, or a penthouse suite in NYC's Upper West Side., or maybe Richard Branson will sell me his island in the Caribbean, (or at least time-share it with me). I'll become one of the "beautiful people" hobnobbing with the rich and famous, and will have to wear shades and a baseball cap just to get my mail. [That is SOOOO unrealistic! DUH!!! I'd HIRE someone to pick up my mail.] Anyway, you get the picture. I'll have it made in the shade, become a fat cat, be sitting pretty, or INSERT FAVORITE CLICHE HERE.

Back to the Land of Reality...

When I finished the fourth draft, I asked myself this deep, philosophical question: If you were a trust fund baby &/or won the lottery, would you continue to write? Surprisingly, the answer was, "Yes!" [Liar, liar pants on fire.] But not because of the usual writer BS of, "ohmygod, I couldn't live if I didn't write!" Hell, no! I'd live, and I'd be just fine. I might even have a tan, get rid of the fat ass I sit on every day TO WRITE, own clothing other than sweats, and try to get me some "class." [And right after that, I'd join the Tea Party and campaign for my girl, Sarah!]

And what would I do with all that "extra" time? Read, which would make me only slightly less boring than when I write. [Impossible.] So, what's the point? I may as well write, right? [Wrong. Pay close attention: NOBODY CARES.]

So, what about you? What would you do if you were a gazillionaire? Would you still write or would you do something more fun and less frustrating, like say, watching the grass grow? [And don't say you have to write or you'll die, because unless you're Stephen King (who I'LL BE MEETING IN PERSON THURSDAY NIGHT!!!), no one believes that crap.]

I've got VIP tix to see Stephen King and The Rock Bottom Remainders this Thursday, which means, I get to meet the band for an hour & a half before the show starts. My son, Adam, will be my date. Oh yeah, there will be a blog post!!!!!!!

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