I am being photographed as I type these words. It’s a photo shoot for some local magazine. I have honestly forgotten the name. I was writing up until a few minutes ago, but I came to a natural end.
The tour hasn’t even started yet, and the 2-W day — writing, working out — is already a challenge. In Chicago on Tuesday, I managed to write about 1,800 words on the flight, but was too tired at day’s end to — excuse me, I need to sit up straighter and suck my stomach in, Bettie Page’s immortal advice — to exercise. I got up early Wednesday, managed 45 minutes in the hotel gym and tried to write on the flight home, but the man next to me was reading over my shoulder, which was unnerving. I got about 800 words done and then he asked: “Are you writing a novel?” I should have said, “No, just some fan fic.” (I did write fan fic, in fact, as a teenager, but I challenge anyone to figure out what group of fictional characters inspired me. I’ll tell you this much — almost no one knows them from books.)
Oh, lord, now I have to look full into the camera. Excuse me. But I have gotten my writing done and I have an appointment at the gym today, so I will get the 2 W’s in . Also a stint at the soup kitchen and an interview and, I hope, several errands essential to next week’s road trip.
ETA: For your reading pleasure:<a href=”http://jezebel.com/364567/toy-story “_blank”> More evidence</a> that I’m a boy. I had one of the greatest Lego sets of all time, one that came with windows, doors, and wheels.
I don’t know. Between this and my love of Will Ferrell films, I feel seriously conflicted. I also had Tinker Toys and some weird Mattel would-be Lego competitor. I just regret that I didn’t have Lincoln Logs. Meanwhile, I pretty much beat the crap out of my Madame Alexander dolls. Your toy stories welcome, in the comments.