I want my 99 cents back!
I bought a terrible book from Amazon called Diary of a Mad, Fat Girl (or was it Lady?) that was part of my chick-lit glom. Oh my gawd. Whoever gave that author permission to type unsupervised needs to be throttled. And Amazon owes me 99 cents!
Besides the fact that the 1st person heroine was a bad tempered, nasty bitch who treated her best friend like shit ... she used the word cooter. Cooter! I think Cooter was the name of one of the characters on the old Andy Griffin show.
"Hey Opie, how's the fishin' at the water hole?"
"Well hey Cooter, caught me an eight incher and he shore do wiggle."
Gah. I'm horrified than anyone would use such a word for the flower of femininity. The lilac of luciousness. The marigold of maidenhood.
Anyway, I was so appalled that I had to wipe that nasty taste from my mouth and eyes and so I returned to Eloisa James. A Kiss at Midnight, to be exact. It's a Cinderella story retold with a lion, an elephant and a lovesick monkey, a Godmother named Henry and fake breasts.
I've decided that I should honor the brilliance that is Ms. James and name my first daughter Eloisa, but my first daughter is aghast at the idea. Why nine, almost ten year olds, refuse to follow the whims of their mothers is just shameful.
I decided to buy a pocket calendar at Barnes and Noble to start forcing myself to keep word counts. But would you believe that B&N went and put their calendars away? The end of February and they did such a thing. I was heartbroken. So heartbroken in fact that I couldn't write a word.
Well anyway, I should be doing something a little more productive than sitting here and being silly. I'm thinking of a nap. Or a little more Eloisa James. Maybe I'll call you and we can brainstorm ideas for stories we're not writing.
Talk to you soon.