Waldenbooks and B. Dalton and so on--the ones that seem so tiny now that B&N and Borders have such a strong presence.

I have this almost instinctive tradition of going into B. Dalton's and skimming the shelf on the left wall (fiction) for the presence of any Lorrie Moore. I just like seeing her on the shelf.

I'd say "mine too", but we're probably talking about the same store.

Hee! Yep.

Deb, I think I've just been too social lately.

Deb, I think I've just been too social lately.

Babe, if that's all that's doing it? It'll fuzz away on its own, I think.

I have marked Deb's post about distance, because I have self-diagnosed with that same problem.

With a side order of "doesn't this mean I'm not a very nice person if this stuff happens in my head?"

Yearrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh.

Tricksy brain, trickssssssssey.

Babe, if that's all that's doing it? It'll fuzz away on its own, I think.

It's really exhibit A that I'm kinda sorta an introvert.

I like people, but they make my brain go poof.

"am I evil if I allow a character to be gleefully tortured to death?"

That's a hard one. But it's better to write about the evil things than to do the evil things. Just remember not to do the evil things after you write about the evil things, otherwise it'll come up in your trial.

With a side order of "doesn't this mean I'm not a very nice person if this stuff happens in my head?"

You're a nicer person than if you make it happen outside your head.

I like people, but they make my brain go poof.

I'm good with letting them play with my brain; it just means that I have to keep heart and soul under stricter controls.

You're a nicer person than if you make it happen outside your head.

Yupyupyup.

But it's better to write about the evil things than to do the evil things. Just remember not to do the evil things after you write about the evil things, otherwise it'll come up in your trial.

Makes notes.

In invisible ink.

I think I've just discovered my most "avoidy" writing behavior. Whenever a scene stalls, or I can't figure out a character, or just at that "slogging through" stage you sometimes have to, well, slog through before you can go back and refine, I wind up convinced that I should be writing not another story, but in another genre entirely. I'm writing a kind of chick-lit-ish romance with a mystery right now, and yet I picked up the new Julia Quinn this afternoon while I was trying to get the baby to sleep and had myself believing after four pages that I should really be writing historicals.

Which is all very well to say when you're reading someone with a light, humorous touch who makes it look easy. That's just it -- it's tempting to read something else and say, But if I were writing this kind of book, it would come so much easier. But it wouldn't. If I were writing a historical, I'd be sitting around convinced I could write contemporary romance/mystery with both hands tied behind my back.

Le, as they say, sigh.