I was originally going to write this as a reply to Joanns' comment (Joann's blog, BTW, is super hilarious. She had me at the title: Laundry Hurts My Feelings. Oh, how it hurts my feelings, too. Actually, it doesn't just hurt my feelings. It made me its bitch in prison.) about men not knowing dick about writing like a woman, but then I thought it would be too long winded. On top of that, I feel it rightly deserves its own post.
I had the exact same thoughts about Steve's advice on writing. In fact, I toyed with the idea of calling the post "But Stephen King has a Penis, Yo." but then thought better of it because a) I'm not sure if Blogger will let me use the word 'penis' in a title, b) even if they do, I feel a little self conscious about doing so and c) ultimately I decided that I didn't want to come across as one of those people that feels enslaved by their gender, or like I was making excuses for myself and d) I wondered if Steven King might sue me. So I called it "On Writing" and left it at that.
As far as a) goes: I guess we're about to find out if Blogger will let me use "penis" in a title. As for d) if Stephen King does decide to sue me: jokes on you, Steve. The only thing I have of any value is a frying pan that looks like a robot and can boil water in sixty seconds.
It's a great book. Don't get me wrong. In fact, I told my husband just this evening that I think I would marry Stephen King if I had the chance. Even though I know he's already married to Tabitha. But still.
He's awesome. But he does possess a definitively male viewpoint on writing. When he describes his daily schedule (writing 2000 words each morning, "naps and letters" in the afternoon, and relaxing and revisions in the evening) I noted with some irritation the glaring absence of several items that consume most of my days.
Pesky but time consuming things like:
-meal preparation three times a day
-planning your six year old's up coming birthday (My Little Pony themed, apparently)
-taking your kid to their third dental appointment this week
-unloading the dishwasher. Again.
-washing the floors
-cleaning up the pool of urine your proudly gotchy clad toddler is standing in (which, incidentally, I had to do three times today.)
-that endless stretch of time called 'bed time'
-taking your cat for her annual shots
-looking for a half an hour for your daughters favorite Barbie
-trying, in vain, to tackle the ever present mountain of laundry
-taking your kids school supply shopping
-taking your kids to the spray park just because it's kind of nice to see your children splashing in the sun-- the way the sunlight plays on the beads of water that rolls down their face, the way they smell damp but sweet like sunscreen afterwards, the way their laughter is so uninhibited.
-Giving your reluctant dog a bath after she rolled in crap
-Scouring out the bathtub after giving said dog a bath
-Bathing your two year old after he stepped in the crap that the dog rolled in. (Yes, this is my real life. It's awesome.)
-and then of course, as if that weren't enough: work forty hours a week outside of the house to contribute to the household income.
Two thousand words a day sounds not merely difficult, but also, possibly, indulgent for those of us that possess, as my Aunt Becky would delicately put it, hamburgers instead of hot dogs.
Anyways, thanks Joann, for validating my feelings on that subject.
And as always, thanks for reading.
And PS- Lorrie, I liked your comment, too. THANK YOU for your constant comments. You never let me down.