Ahem.
And now I bring you an emo play/interpretive dance titled "My Work In Progress."
:takes bat, hits writing:
Smack smack smack smack!
It's not working.
:poses dramatically, her wrist touching her forehead:
Woe is me!
:pretends to rip out her hair. Stands there like a medusa holding on to her hair:
I'm wasting my time!
:falls down on her knees:
I should have been a dishwasher!
:sits on her knees, with arms widely spread, and a desperate look on her face:
It's all over. Vaya con dios.
:falls face down on the floor:
The End.


Comments
:dabs eyes:
I am sorry. I'm just so emotional.
:dabs eyes:
My editor, my agent... They are all wonderful wonderful people...
You'll smudge your excessive eyeliner!!!!
I am using entirely too many !s !
See, I'll play my son to your fainting. Goes over to Ilona, looks at her. Wanders away. Gets a pillow off couch, goes to Ilona, sticks pillow under Ilonas head, pats Ilonas head and wanders off to get into trouble.
[clap.clap.clap]
Now, get up and get back to work.
*is frantically trying to rewrite a whole plot arc, failing miserably, and wishing she delivered pizzas for a living*
*not really on the pizza thing*
*but close*
:)
Encore! Encore!
See, you use dance to release those fears and fustrations before getting back to work on books to feed the masses who want more.
Um...How does your husband work for the interpretive dance. Does he use a bat or scissors?