Is to do lots and lots of crunches.

Or, if you're a writer, to plug through it, even though you're positive it's the worst garbage you've ever written and would rather chuck the whole thing.

I am at the dead middle of this rewrite. The trouble is that when I started the rewrite, this guy who was firmly dead in other versions of the book is now ALIVE. And a part of the story. Well, he was part of the story before, but he was a dead guy, so he didn't take up a whole lot of my precious white space. But here he is. Alive. The trouble with fiction is that when you kill people, they don't always stay dead.

Anyway, I have been working on this chapter since Friday, and it's been piecemeal, trying to get decent words out of me. I finally gave up, wrote a summary paragraph of the rest of the conversation and got her out of Dodge. End of paragraph. End of chapter. We're now at the place that needs to happen next. And maybe that's been my problem. This whole mess of struggling with the words happened Friday at Panera when I was happily typing along and realized, um, there's two scenes that have to happen first. Crap. I put on the brakes and went back to write those two scenes. I should have kept plugging forward. But no... I was too afraid I'd forget. Well, I paid for it.

Two days of writing and all I can show for myself is one measly chapter. Now on to the next. But I think this one's going to be fun, because I'm about to blow up part of my heroine's universe and I really love doing that...

 Anyone have any good tips for getting through it without violence?

This morning, after reading last night's blog, That Man says to me, "wow, when you said she was snuggled with the dog, you weren't kidding." Nope.

I took all those pictures this past week. The dog picture happened Tuesday night when That Man had to work late. Little one was asleep and her big sister was playing a computer game, so I decided to take a bath. I promised B that when I got done, we'd have some "mommy time" and read a book. While she waited, she fell asleep on my bed in the dog's spot. So the dog went to bed on top of her. I had to take a picture because it was too cute. Plus, the dog spends so much time running from her, I figured it would be nice to have some photographic evidence that they do get along. When That Man came home, I told him the story, and he smiled and nodded like he always does. So now I have to give him a hard time.

 I wonder... was it the case that he's seen how she traumatizes the dog so much that he couldn't possibly believe that the dog would willingly get within ten feet of her? Or was it that when I talk to him, all he hears is "blah blah blah..." and ends it with, "that's nice dear."

Men! Gotta love 'em.

Actually, even though I'm picking on him, I have to say, today was a good day. We celebrated our 8th anniversary this summer. In January, we'll have known each other for ten years. One of the first books we read together was The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. From the beginning, he knew what my love language was. From the beginning, he knew that the thing that makes me feel the most loved is to pay attention to the specific thing I want and deliver. For me, specificity is key. So for years, I've explained specific things around the house that if he did, I'd feel loved. He typically does everything but, and so I can never be mad at him, since he does SOMETHING, but he never does THE thing. Today... He did THE thing.

I came home after being at a writer's group, and not only was he working on the project I specifically asked him to do, but he'd also done it exactly how I asked, AND he'd cleaned the kitchen. The house was in better shape than when I'd left it, which is another thing I've been asking. I LOVE it!! I love him!

Now, lest you think I get too cocky over my wonderful man, I'll probably go up to bed and he'll ruin it all by being too gassy. Fortunately for him, I love him anyway. Or maybe it's fortunate for me. He did listen to all of my weird, anal instructions and follow them more than completely. He's listened to my nagging for all these years. He hasn't killed me for some of the crazy things I say and do. He lets me threaten to kill him, then smiles and tells me he loves me.

I think I'll keep him.

(But don't tell him...)