The Big Gulp

Like there isn't enough to do already. You all know about the nearly perfect manuscript that's going out any second now. But you don't know about the absolute insanity that's invaded our happy little household. Let me get you up to speed.

We've decided to sell the house. Partially this is due to in-laws moving to a town twenty minutes further north and we're going to move even closer to them. That was in the plans. But then partially this move is due to the Dave Ramsey money managing thing wherein we sell our house for a profit, pay off all debts with the proceeds, buy something smaller on a 15 year mortgage, and let all incoming salary work for us instead of vice versa. You know.

That was the ideal scenario anyway.

Tiny things make a big difference, though. Our house is in nearly great shape to show and should sell quickly (remember my optimistic spirit? Oh, yeah, it's still with me.) Landscaping is gorgeous, huge private fenced and shaded back yard, check. House with lots of room and neutral decor (gag), check. Reasonable price set.... mostly check. That's the hard one but you've got to take the big gulp and give in on that one to get what you want as soon as possible.

So that part of the plan is breezing along like a SpongeBob SquarePants kite at Nag's Head in March. (Yeah, I have a picture of that.)

The hitch in the works is the part about finding a place with a lower mortgage, blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda. Oh, we found a place. It's in a fantastic location. Even the boy is thrilled beyond measure. Easy walking distance to the high school. Quaint little old fashioned town in a not-too-far-from-a-Target kind of place. But the house. How can I say it?

The house is a hundred and seven years old.

It's a farmhouse-style house and it needs to have all the carpet ripped out so the smell will dissipate. It needs to have all the wood paneling taken out immediately. More than that, though? It needs a good re-wiring of electrical. It needs an HVAC installed. It needs insulation. It also needs things I know I can do on my own like painting the walls, refinishing the wood floors, taking down weird ceiling tiles, etcetera.

In short, it needs lots of stuff. Lots of time and, yep, you gussed it, lots of money.

But it's located on Main Street in a quiet town. Our next door neighbors are a little historical old church and a modern new post office. So, no neighbors. The lot is huge with huge old trees. The roof of the house is tin which I find fascinating for some reason. There is a lovely front porch with lots of azaleas blooming in front of it. So we're sunk. If we make an offer for this place we will end up with the 15 year mortgage, but we're also getting costly repairs right up front and a few years of constant renovations. And probably a ghost.

Isn't that just how it works? You make a plan and then someone throws a big old house at you and says you can fix it up for your own. So what can we do?

Take the big gulp and plung in -- one way or another, it's about to get interesting.

Distracted By a Shiny Red Ball

I have a story I can't shake out of my head. If you write, you know what I mean.
Here I am, rolling along working on the WIP and along comes this killer idea that is so different from what I'm doing. The new idea beckons with a grass-is-greener intensity and I long, passionately long to metaphorically get up and walk away from the characters I've been with for too long already in order to go play kickball next door with the cool new kids.

Don't get me wrong: I know the new kids are simply diversionary tactics my brain is employing to avoid the tedioius work on a manuscript that is already DONE but for the polishing. In other words, it doesn't need me anymore and why can't I go play over there with that shiny red ball?

Why, indeed. Because I don't have the editor yet. I have to pick up on and then correct all the little mistakes in that manuscript myself. And if I don't pick up on them, no editor is ever going to want to work with me. They'll see my pages and call me a slacker and pass the pages around the office and mock me and my stupid commas.

I assume.

Regardless, I'm working on making it perfect. And if I'm down to spelling and grammar, cliches and commas, it's just about there.

Blessings to everyone else struggling with character arcs and trying to ignore shiny red balls of their own making. My plan has me tackling those new characters inside a month. And a year from now, I'll hate them just as much as I hate the ones I have right now.

I assume.