OK - it's been a rough weekend and it's only Sunday morning, but it *is* St. Patrick's Day and there's a green beer in my future. Am I Irish? Not especially, but I can drink green beer.
Of my two favorite great grandmothers, one was Irish and the other full-blooded Cherokee. That one, I'm told, used to get pissed off and periodically throw the dog over the back fence. This could possibly be a variation of the "Cherokee Dance" my husband talks about. I wouldn't know, because when it happens, I'm so out of control, I can't see straight and someone has to pull me off the person who caused it (usually one of my offspring).
The Irish one came to America as an indentured servant and stirred up so much trouble in one wealthy household in Southern Ohio, that she ended up married off to the gardener and shuffled off to coal-mining country. My red-neck family's version of Downton Abbey.
A beautiful, huge watercolor of her that's over a hundred years old hangs behind my desk. I can imagine her making snarky Irish remarks over my shoulder while I write. On one memorable morning, I could swear she said, "If you don't write that novel now, just when in the hell do you think you will?"
Back in those days, a painting like that was not cheap. Wonder who had it made? Probably not the gardener. And, oh yeah - she's a red head.
Oops - almost forgot - the pantser-planner-plantser thing. I made a New Year's resolution (never a good idea) to plan my writing projects more before I just dive in and bang stuff out. This has led to all sorts of backed up behavior - piles of overflowing paper in my office - lots of diagrams and 3x5 cards littering the walls.
And then yesterday (it is the end of March after all), just like when you have too many jalapenos the night before, everything that 's backed up since January in my pea brain overflowed. Right onto my brave old Mac laptop. Couldn't stop. Sooooo. What am I saying here? Jes sayin' maybe the pantser thing is what I'm supposed to be doing.
Then - did something I've been putting off for a long time - I signed on to Twitter - as @andreasailsaway. And, believe it or not, had the same out-of-body experience as the first time I smoked something I shouldn't. I didn't get it. What is the point? Maybe as I ease into this whole social media thing, it'll make more sense? All I know for sure is I gotta log back in and get all the Huffington Post crap outta there. Joe Hill, however, is great. For all we know, tho, maybe his 13-year-old is posting for him. Ha!