One Down, 16 To Go

Handed in a "sample" chapter of the book yesterday. I have four more due next Friday. That sound you hear is me giggling hysterically--and I mean the hysterical part quite literally.

The work is fun, and interesting. But it's making me crazy that I can't do it "right." The schedule is so tight that I'm having to rely on written sources where I really should/would rather rely on interviews with experts and with people living with bipolar. I just need a couple of weeks to just hunker down and interview everybody I have on this enormous "hit list" of mine. But 'tain't gonna happen. Still, I'm hoping to be able to talk them into an extra week or so upfront, with promises to make the time up as we go along. Because once I get a few more 'major' interviews under my belt, I'll be able to write the later chapters with ease. OK, maybe not ease. I don't think I've ever written anything with ease. Writing is hard work. I enjoy it, but it's hard. Mostly, I think, because its never perfect. What I end up getting down on paper is never quite up to the standards of what I expect myself to be capable of. What I *know* I'm capable of. For instance, the sample chapter...I already realized that I left out at least three points I wanted to make. In this case, I can probably still slip them in during the process, but in the later chapters? Whatever I do will be what I've done.

(Yeah. Thank you, Yogi Berra.)

On a completely unrelated note, I almost got proofed/carded/whatever-you-call-it-depending-on-where-you're-from at the supermarket yesterday. The kid (or, as the protesters would call him, the scab) at the register looked at the 12-pack of Bass Ale I was buying (did I mention I turned in my sample chapter yesterday? Did I mention I needed to celebrate?) and then looked at me, then looked at the 12-pack, opened his mouth...and got sidetracked by another cashier, so ended up just ringing it up. But, man. Less than two weeks away from my 40th. I wouldn't have known whether to laugh or cry. (Actually, yes I would have. I would have laughed. Then I would have hugged him. Then they would have taken me away.)

OK, I need to stop writing now. I'm boring myself, and that just can't be a good sign.