I wake up at 4am most mornings to my characters talking to me and telling me what to write. They have full blown conversations in my head. While I'm trying to sleep. If the stuff they had to tell me wasn't the core of my writing, then I'd be perturbed to have to wake up to made-up, fictional characters screaming at me at the top of their lungs to get it written down. And that's not the half of it. Recently, I've been bombarded in my sleep with several more book ideas. Four to be exact. So between the manuscript I'm working on right now and those four other ideas, my sleep has been minimal to say the least.
One of my dear friends and future travel companions (for when I go on tour, of course) mentioned to me that it looks like I'm not getting enough sleep or food. This is somewhat true. The food part is never a problem for me. I eat like no other. (Someone, please vouch for me) Although I do eat, I have been sleeping, eating, dreaming, walking, breathing, whatever-ing words since I started writing this manuscript, especially since I found out about a contest that recently opened that I want to enter my book into that requires a finished, edited, and well polished final copy by February 7. Much like my OCD tendencies with things being in order and in their place, I steer towards becoming strangely obsessed with things. Right now writing is my addiction. And reading. The bad thing is that I have neglected many things in the process. Like laundry, dishes, cleaning, and *winces* my kids. I can't help it though. There is so much to be written and there is a constant feed into my brain, not unlike Facebook status updates, that just pop up into my brain out of nowhere. It's crazy.
If the writing wasn't enough, I have a mountain of books that have taken over my bedside table. And for some unknown reason I am reading five books right now that I am completely engrossed in. My currently reading list includes: The Schwa Was Here (Neal Shusterman is a freakin' rockstar writer), The House on Mango Street, Same Kind of Different as Me, Where the Red Fern Grows (this is my fifth time reading this and if you've never read this, YOU are certifiably insane, no questions asked), and Handle With Care. I can usually keep up with three books at a time, but this, this pile of ridiculous-ness, is out of control.
Once again, I admit, I have a problem. One day, I hope the chaos of my life at this particular moment pays off. Until then, I will work on moving on to Step 2: To come to a belief that a Power greater than myself can restore my sanity. (Highly unlikely I'd ever be considered sane, but if you say so, Step 2)