So, my no-good, very bad day: I’ve been hip-deep in the new book and I’m in the dreaded middle third, where things do not come easily and I routinely tell my husband that the new book stinks, my writing stinks, *I* stink . . . not a pretty picture. I think it was Raymond Chandler who said that you know when things aren’t going well if you have to pull the words out.
So my day was like that. I blame some–most–of it on breaking off to do two other projects. My choice, I got to live with the fall-out: in this case, needing to find the book’s voice again. I think I finally got into it somewhere around 11:00 a.m., wrote my number of pages and then a little more, and then–stupidly–decided to do something ELSE not writing-related without saving the pages I’d done.
You know where this is going.
So the computer pretty much froze up trying to download drivers for my printer. No blue screen of death, but I sort of thought that’d be next. I made the STOOPID decision to unplug the computer when the thing hung and hung and hung, figuring . . . autorecover, no biggie.
Uh . . . no . . .
So, all my work for the day . . . just gone. Scattered electrons. Poof.
I had a mini-meltdown. I cursed a lot. I tried a recovery program, but no dice. Then I went for a bike ride. I’d planned to go with my daughter to see “Julie & Julia,” but I was in SUCH a foul humor. Then I felt guilty, thought how I should do what I said I would. So we went.
Boy, am I glad we did. First of all, the movie was wonderful, just what I needed. I laughed and got teary and was pleased as punch that I remembered enough French to follow the conversations (there isn’t much). Most of all, I really understood what Julie Powell (and, maybe, Julia Child) was/were getting at: cooking is something you do for love–love of cooking, yes, but also love of family.
I was going to get a pizza. Instead, I came home, pulled out Julia’s The Way to Cook (a fabulous book) and whipped up a quick hollandaise sauce to go with poached eggs and steamed asparagus over rice. Did up some strawberries, set out some good cheeses and a nice ciambatta. The sauce was PERFECT . . . until I left it on the warmer a little too long and it turned! I began to apologize to the troops, but my daughter said, “Remember, Mom, Julia said never to apologize.”
Everything tasted good anyway. The sauce, though turned, was still presentable. And I was in a much better mood.
Make no mistake. I’m still pissed about the pages. But I wrote them once, I’ll write them again tomorrow.
Tonight, I loved my family a little instead.
