|"Frank, we've got to stop her before she let's them read her book." .."Damn it, Barbara, it may already be too late."|
After baring my soul on Friday, I can only imagine you woke up this morning, raised your hands to the clear blue, and addressed the heavens as such...
"Dear Lord, as I loved reading all of those fun and abundant facts about Paige Kellerman, please see fit to inspire her with yet another post in a vein much like the first. Let it be witty and smooth, yet slightly chunky like the good kind of peanut butter. That is all.
...Oh, and please let gas only cost a dollar a gallon by the time I make it to the pump.
I can only chalk it up to said prayers, as I couldn't believe it when I was tagged in yet another taggy post sequence. I suppose I could pass on it, but the fabulous Lani Wendt Young over at Sleepless in Samoa requested it of me, and I can't tell such a fabulous author/mom "no".
(That, and I'm afraid I'll attract bad luck in the form of growing hair on the right side of my upper lip, thereby matching the hair on the left, and shall henceforth be known as Monkey Writer Lady Mom Esquire.)
And now for the horrifying details...
The rules are:
1. Go to page 77 of your current MS.
2. Go to line 7.
3. Copy down the next 7 lines ( sentences or paragraphs) and post them as they're written.
4. Tag 7 writers and let them know.
So, without further ado, I give you a sneak peak into my current work in progress. If you must laugh, please do so where I can see you. Anything else is entirely uncalled for.
An excerpt from (working title, of course) My Belly Ate Your Cupcakes: Semi-True Tales of An Impending Miracle:
-It’s important to make a small note here that Cocoa Butter can’t be made at home. At least, when I tried to whack a coconut open with a butter knife, in order to spread the contents on my stomach, it didn’t work out so well. There was lots of screaming and Husband shouting, “What the hell are you doing? Do you want to impale yourself? I’ll go get a towel, just stay where you are.”-
So, the next day, I sent him to the pharmacy to gather supplies. “I’ll need a ten pound tub, and not a drop less.” I instructed. “If there are special gloves to rub it in with, grab a set of those too. And a magazine, so I can read while I get beautiful. And a bag of M&Ms for Second Lunch. Hurry back, now. I may need your help to apply that stuff to all the spots I can’t reach. There are some crevices I can feel, but can’t see.” Husband shuddered slightly as he closed the door behind him.
*Excerpted from Chapter 11: A Note On Stretch Marks
Well, hopefully that didn't scare you away permanently. I really shouldn't have picked such a gruesome scene. Because now you’re all like,
“Did she just say something about crevices? Ewww. Why would she think talking about crevices would make us want to read her book? Do you even know what a crevice is? I was traumatized my a killer bird that flew out of a crevice once.”
Like Friday, I won’t tag anyone in particular, but if you’re a writer, please feel free to shoulder this challenge, and carry the torch, If you decide to do so, please let me know. And I promise, no more taggy posts tomorrow…
Until Next Time Readers!