Shock, Shock, Horror, Horror, Shock, Shock, Horror

A tin of bis­cuits to any­one who can iden­tify the song from where I got the post header. *sporfle*

Well, I’m behind on my Le Tour updates, which rarely turn on vis­i­tors to my blog, I’m sure. Hehe. I’ll just wait till the end of the race to post my thoughts about it. For the time being, I’m shar­ing the link to Boston.com’s page on the Tour, which is a col­lec­tion of some really fan­tas­tic pho­tographs. And, yes, there’s some blood involved because of all the crashes that have hap­pened since the first stage. Pretty nasty stuff, but the images are sharp, the col­ors vivid, and the story being told, sim­ply awesome.

Oh, and if any­one were to say, “Any­one can ride a bike” in my face, I’ve got pretty good aim with my knee. Let’s see you get on your bike, ride 100+ miles per day for 21 days on var­ied ter­rain (prefer­ably moun­tain­ous) at your high­est speed. Let’s see how macho you can be, los­ing con­trol of your bike and crash­ing at 60 mph.

This goes out to those Amer­i­cans who sneer at cycling, call­ing the sport “so gay” because of the team kits, and going around, puff­ing out their chests to the tune of “Any­one can ride a bike.” Well, hello, foot­ball / base­ball / hockey diehards. I’m sure any­one can kick a ball or run with it, hit a ball with a bat, and hit a puck. I mean, yanno, just sayin’.

Any­way, the point of this post’s header is that I appar­ently suck at writ­ing adult fic­tion because — well, because. I mean, sure, I can write adult char­ac­ters on the side, but as main char­ac­ters (with adult con­flicts)? Um…er…no…?

No. I can’t write them. I felt so restrained and was champ­ing at the bit, aching to make Char­ac­ter X do some­thing com­pletely out of char­ac­ter for some­one with his expe­ri­ence. It was hor­ren­dous. I hated sit­ting on my hands and remind­ing myself what this is all about and that this isn’t YA.

Enter my online friend who’s been play­ing ther­a­pist for me on this, and I’m slowly grasp­ing what the real issue is here. I’m still angry — okay, furi­ous — at myself for fail­ing to come up with new mate­r­ial over a month since I fin­ished revis­ing Desmond and Gar­rick. But I’m still going through this weird process of think­ing and eval­u­at­ing, which is adding to my grow­ing impa­tience because I WANT TO WRITE A NEW STORY NOW!

Sigh. It’s a new week. Dare I hope for some­thing this time around? I’m not get­ting any younger, you know.