On Twitter, at least. Seriously. See? Right here.
Okay, not exactly there, because that picture has the camera with the plus sign, telling me where I can put the picture (in the literal sense; there may well be a figurative meaning in there as well, for all the challenge this has posed) but putting in actual picture? Nope.
To be fair, I liked the picture that was there before. It was actually the first picture of myself that I honestly liked in a long time, and that sparked some refining of my personal style, which is what sparked the desire to spiff my profile (all right, the factory reset on my laptop did have something to do with the matter as well) and I thought nothing could be easier than putting a new profile picture up, but, apparently, I was mistaken there.
At this point, I am tempted to leave the egg where it is. I am more concerned with the missing background on the page -can we even do that anymore on Twitter? If we can’t, I am sorely disgruntled over that development.- and satisfied with the header, which is my giant eyeballs, so, really, the profile picture is my only complaint here, which leaves me in a pretty good place, all things considered. Since I have been considering a lot of things lately, that is actually rather impressive.
Gmail is on a queue again, and I have no idea how that works, so the artfully composed and edited shot of my secretary desk, with my new morning pages book in action, and bonus guest “pastel” (I do not think that word means what the manufacturer thinks it means, but I love them anyway) gel highlighters, is not in my in-box, so what we get is the stripped-down shot of what is actually on my lap desk at present. Once I have a featured image at the top of my page, my brain knows it’s blog time, so I’ve learned to put anything up there and let the blabbering flow. I can always fix it (picture or blabbering) later.
Which is why I still don’t have Scrivener on my current laptop, and I don’t know that I’m going to reinstall it anytime soon. One, it’s still on the old laptop; two, Melva works in Word, which the old laptop also has, and converting documents is not either of our favorite things; 3) I like keeping this laptop lean; and 4) I freaking love composing in Word Pad, which surprises the heck out of me…and it doesn’t.
The other night, I was on Skype with H, both of us grumbly over where we were on respective projects. Facebook had decided I would like to remember the exact date an editor last confirmed to me they had received the book I’d sold them (for the record, Facebook, I did not. I actually cried a little.) I said something along the lines of “stuff it, I’m doing it, right now.” (I did not use those exact words.)
If this were a movie, imagine H and me, sitting, midpoint, on a dock that overlooks a scenic lake. This would be the part where I would clamber to my feet, whip my oversized white t-shirt over my head, revealing fashionable-yet-modest swimsuit beneath, race down the dock at top speed, shout, “Ronkonkoma!” (once-upon-a-time version of “cowabunga” et al, that a favorite cousin and I shared as kids) and cannonball into the water. This was not a movie, so what actually happened was that I stuck my flash drive into the UBS port…and then remembered the document was in Scrivener, and Scrivener is not yet reinstalled on this machine. Going back to the movie image, this would be where I would frantically try to un-cannonball because…well, not sure where to go with this one, because there would still be water, only not the kind of water I expected. Maybe it was cold. Maybe I’d spotted lake sharks.
In either case, impact. So what if I didn’t have that particular program? Word Pad would do, and so I opened a new document. I started swimming. I couldn’t format, couldn’t count words, couldn’t see any reminders of how far behind I was or how far I had to get to my goal. All I could do was tell the story, and that’s what I did. Much like writing longhand. It felt incredible. Since it was late, and I was tired, I paddled on back to the dock before too long, but with a sense that I’d discovered something I’d been missing (and no, FB, I don’t want a reminder of how long. Really, really don’t.) and that my muscles, though complaining, were stronger for the stretch.
Word Pad was something I’d written in, years and lifetimes ago, when I wrote paper letters to a once-upon-a-time friend when it was too hot to sleep, at a desk with stacks of historical romance novels piled on the floor behind me, because I didn’t have bookshelves in that room. Scrivener will definitely go on the new desktop, when that computer joins the family, and I am very glad to still have it on the old laptop, but, right now, I am writing these books. I am telling these stories, and the purity of throwing the story at the screen and seeing what sticks is motivating me like crazy. I refuse to let go of that, ever again.
I don’t have all the answers right now, and I’m not going to pretend I do. Rather, I’m finding them out as I go, and, this time, I am appreciating the journey. What works for me, now? What stories do I want to tell, now? What tasks can I realistically accomplish, today? Do those. I don’t have a fabulous new book deal to splash on the screen, but I am writing one and a half (Melva has the other half) books that I absolutely love, with people who are so real to me that I see things in stores and think, “Hero would love that; I should get him one,” before I remember they are fictional. I have articles in the hopper, more on the horizon, and forward we go.