I haven't blogged in a while, and neither have I written. My WIP sat languishing in its journals, no words typed in the computer for the last week. At first I thought I had just burnt myself out during #wordathon, an awesome Twitter hashtag that pushes writers to get words out or edit the ones they had already written. But then yesterday it dawned on me, horribly and with little warning.

There were major problems with my plot. And my characters.

I became extremely discouraged, scared that the work I had done was for nothing, that I would have to abandon this story because there was no way for it to work. But with some great encouragement from the #amwriting tweeps, I found the problem that, when fixed, would strengthen my novel as a whole. It was my Main Character, and even some of the others as well. Some were too perfect, dull and lifeless. Yes, they were probably people I had met or would meet in my life, people who generally seem to have a good, cheerful life. But who wants to read about them? I need to give my MC, and a few of the lesser protagonists, difficulties beyond the external ones they face in the story. So I began working up a new personality for the MC last night, and vowed to myself I would return to my daily writing schedule: wake up at 7:30am, take ADD meds, get coffee, check Twitter, then once I felt the meds and coffee kick in, start writing.

But that wasn't how it happened. My husband let the cat out of her room, so as soon as I opened my bedroom door she was behind me, trying to climb up my legs. The coffee pot has a sizable crack along its side. I find this out by the water pouring out the wrong end. Thankfully, I have a spare coffee maker. Only we're out of filters. I go to Walgreens. I get back, let my three dogs in, feed the cat on the dining room table, the highest she can go to get away from the dogs. Only Pepper, the middle dog, has learned how to jump from window sill to chair to table, and has been eating the kittens food when I shut myself in my office. I let the cat into my office and feed her there. Then she thinks its okay to suckle my lip while kneading my boobs, neck and face with her claws. And she wouldn't stop, even with reprimanding her with the spray bottle. I have 10 claw marks, just from today, one of them pretty deep. Then I try calling my husband at work, only his phone is turned off. And when he does finally call me back, its with bad new about our impending move to New York City. Or rather, its no longer in our foreseeable future. Crap.

I'm depressed. My New York dream may never happen, because I was stupid and insisted we buy a house only a year after our marriage. I'm only 23 for f*cks sake! I'm a drifter, I like to move, travel, see new places. But no. I had to buy into the "American Dream" and that we could afford the mortgage on a house so early on was bait. Now we're stuck. I'm pissed at myself. I'm so unhappy. We both hate Texas heat, but yet we're still here. I feel trapped, and we can't sell the house yet because part of the roof needs to be fixed, there are drill wholes needing to be filled, carpet to replace, etc etc etc. Even if we can fix the broken stuff and sell the house, we can't do that until the end of next summer, because we'll lose money. And with the expenses of fixing and selling the house, we won't be able to afford moving.

I'm sorry. I know I'm ranting. My husband, whom I love for trying, always comes off blasé about, well, anything. He's really even tempered, which makes me feel like a complete *ss whenever I get bent out of shape about this stuff. And with all this happening on the day I was supposed to luxuriate in my writing, I can't concentrate anymore. I don't even remember what I've been thinking about the last few hours. My day is ruined, and I hate being depressed. I want to cry. I can't even write it away.