Little Pieces of the Nothing that Fall

I'm not writing a blog this week. The reasons are innumerable—brace yourselves.

So I hope you forgive me this week. Well, okay—I don't really care if you forgive me or not. I've got enough of my own issues to deal with without taking on everyone else's. So if you're twitching in a corner, whimpering because I didn't write a blog this week, you'll just have to deal. You're strong. I have faith in you.

Oh—regarding the blog title... You're right, it has nothing to do with the content of this post and everything to do with the fact that I was listening to the Goo Goo Dolls when I wrote it. And since we're talking about the Goo Goo Dolls... This one goes out to my lovie, Nate:

Oh Nate...
Put your arms around me!
What you feel is what you are,
and what you are is beautiful.
Oh Nate...

Blog like a Pirate

Yesterday morning I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, working on my blog when Nate walked into the room. I was so engrossed with my post that I didn't notice him until he spoke.

"Are you okay?"

I looked up to find him standing in front of me, concern in his lovely blue eyes. "Of course I'm okay. Why? Are you okay?"

"I'm not the one who's been mumbling arrgh for the past half hour."

"Oh." I nodded. "Tuesday is Talk like a Pirate day, so I'm blogging like a pirate."

Nate frowned. "What does that have to do with being frustrated? Isn't your writing going well?"

Sigh. For as brilliant as he was, sometimes you really had to explain things to him. "I'm getting into the pirate mood, ye land lubber."

He ignored my piraty insult and asked, "By saying arrgh?"

Duh. "Aye, me matey Natey."

"There's just one problem with that, love. Pirates don't say arrgh. They say arrr." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Unless they're frustrated."

My turn to frown. "Of course they say arrgh."

"No they don't," Nate said in his reasonable voice. "Arrgh is solely a sound you make when you're aggravated."

"Not if you're a southern hemisphere pirate," I said knowledgeably. I tried to think of something piraty to add to my statement but my vocabulary obviously isn't as strong as it should be. Mental note: pick up an English to Pirate translation book.

He blinked. "A southern hemisphere pirate?"

"Pirates who sail in the southern hemisphere say arrgh while their counterparts in the north say arrr. And since your ancestry is from the north, it makes sense that you believe the way you do." I patted his hand reassuringly. "It's okay. Really."

I could tell he was processing by the long, drawn out silence. Finally he said, "You're making this up as you go along, aren't you?"

Innocent blink. "Me?"

He shook his head and turned toward the kitchen. "I need coffee."

But I wasn't done with him. "Avast, lovie!"

Nate glanced at me over his shoulder.

I gave him my best leer and said, "How'd you like to scrape the barnacles off me rudder, me lusty lad?"

He shook his head. "It's going to be a long day."

Obsessed

I am absolutely obsessed with Nickelback's All the Right Reasons.

I get like this. Each time I start a book, one CD stands out and I end up needing to play it while I write. Over and over and over... It's on par with—I don't know—breathing, for example.

I figure there's got to be a reason why I need to listen to Nickelback so badly. I mean, there's the fact that the music is rocking and the lyrics are clever and funny but alternately deep and caring. Only I'm afraid the real reason is that it's also kind of, um, naughty.

Which makes me worried. Because the next book, which I called EX GAMES but will be titled differently (as mentioned above), turned out to be sexier than PROJECT DADDY. Odd since the Garden State soundtrack, though groovy, isn't overtly sexy. Don't get me wrong—you can definitely knock boots to it (not that I'd have firsthand experience about that), but it's not push-you-against-the-wall-and-rock-your-world naughty like All the Right Reasons.

(I considered inserting a snippet of the lyrics here for your edification, but given the wide age range of my audience I decided not to. Let's just say one song is about a guy and his girl going parking. Use your imagination. Ahem.)

It's led me to wonder whether the music affects what and how I'm writing. Is listening to Nickelback going to make my next book bold? Some of you are shuddering at the thought, because that's all the world needs: a bolder Kate.

But I'm helpless. Even as I'm writing this, Nickelback is on repeat in the background. It's like I've been handed musical heroine. And there's no going back.

Stuck

Yesterday morning, I spent an hour hitting my head against the wall in frustration before I finally called my sister Parisa. "I can't figure out what to post for my blog tomorrow."

"Why don't you write about how you're a freak who wakes up her sister at 7:30 in the morning on a holiday because she can't figure out what to blog about?"

I frowned. "Do you think that's an interesting enough subject?"

She sighed. "What are your other choices?"

"Well, I already wrote about how you hate the crab movie, so I should probably wait a few weeks before I write about that again." I waited for the usual negative comments about that movie, but there was nothing. "Are you awake?"

"Unfortunately."

"Oh." Sometimes my family only pretends to pay attention to me, so I have to check. "Maybe I should write another story about Afra. She was strongly hinting that I should yesterday when I saw her."

"You could," Parisa said with only marginal disinterest.

"But then she made fun of me for liking Esprit clothes when I was a kid, so I don't think so." I tapped a finger against my lips. "I could write something about Nate. Everyone loves Nate stories."

My sister hummed in agreement. "You could write about how you're a freak and decided to take Nate camping for his birthday but since you don't like the outdoors you took him camping in the spare bedroom. Make sure you mention how you got green balloons with brown strings to simulate trees and a Sounds of the Forest CD."

"Would that make a compelling blog post though?" I just wasn't convinced.

"Depends on how you do it." Sheets rustled. "What if you write about how you're a freak and carry on conversations with dead spiders?"

"Wait a minute." I held my hand out. No, she couldn't see it, but I knew she'd feel me doing it. The brat and I have a weird psychic connection. "That was just a joke. I wasn't actually having a conversation with that spider."

"Uh-huh," she said in drenching disbelief.

"I wasn't." I am so misunderstood.

"Then why don't you write about how misunderstood you are?"

I smiled. "Maybe I will."