The cool thing about frog fish is they don't try to escape and run. They just sit there hoping you will go away. You have to be really annoying before they amble off. And amble they do. Sort of like that drunk uncle of yours during the holidays trying to get his coat out of that pile on the bed...That amble...They are good natured. They have to be. They can't dart or strike. They are not good eating.
They are just so darned interesting.
I have a lot of photos of frog fish.
You will see...
3 am and 81 degrees.
I should be in bed, instead the characters in the next novel I am editing woke me up. They needed motivation. They needed a sense of place. They needed structure. So here I am warming up by writing in my blog and drinking coffee way too early in the morning.
I am out of order.
My first novel - which I still love and garnered several requests for fulls - sits in my drawer waiting until my skill matches what I need to do with it.
My second novel - which I decided to start editing next- has been screaming at me for the last few weeks "GET TO WORK ON ME! FINISH ME! POLISH ME!
My third novel - which got me my wonderful agent - was sent email to NY and is now being shopped.
My fourth novel is percolating in its third draft stage waiting for my editorial distance.
My fifth novel is still in its embryonic form at 20,000 words and sprawling structure.
My sixth novel is outlined, has a beginning and end but alas no middle yet, because each time I sit down to work on it my other works start having tantrums and I have to leave the good, quiet child to tend to the bad.
They are all living, breathing entities.
They are alive to me.
A quivering mass of words I have no control over.
I think I was going to relate this whole exposition to the frog fish.
But I won't.