Those of you who have been reading There's No Crying in the War Room know that I started the book years ago. Those of you who read the introduction on the website know that originally, I intended to have my candidate win the popular vote but lose the electoral college. Then Al Gore came along and did that very thing so I abandoned that idea because it was no longer such a unique "how could that happen" sorta idea. (Anybody who want to whine that it didn't happen and and Gore really won and GWB stole the election and Florida needs to be evicted from the Union and space aliens ate your baby should feel free to comment on GetOverIt,ItHappenedAndThere'sNotADamnedThingYouCanDoAboutIt.com.)
So, anyway, as you know, I've dusted off my WIP (I read writer's blogs and learn nifty acronyms!), and I've posted it and I've been writing new chapters that I'm (mostly) quite happy with. I'm currently stuck on the next chapter that's due, but the dog ate my homework and some stuff was lost in the flood and that tornado struck and the only thing lost was the notepad with the great idea and I was going to write it yesterday but I had to take an online personality exam. Yes, I owe you a new chapter and I'm working on it and if you've got a problem with me, please comment at the above referenced website.
So, back to the point of this post. I need to write faster. A week ago yesterday, David Paterson took the oath of office to replace Eliot Spitzer as New York's Governor. Within 24 hours, both he and his wife publicly acknowledged that they had had extramarital affairs. Over the next couple of days they partially outed themselves regarding who the other participants were in these affairs. This was followed up by Paterson admitting that he might have paid for some of his hotel rooms with a credit card drawing on campaign funds, but he had always reimbursed the campaign. Yesterday, in an interview, Davey admitted that he had smoked pot and used cocaine a few times in his early 20's. I'm fully expecting him to announce tomorrow that he spent a few years as an intern to Dr. Jack Kevorkian. "I only picked up his dry cleaning."
So, back to the point again. Here's the question. Is David Paterson reading my book from a blocked IP and I should feel honored that he's taking his cues from little-old-me? Or am I writing too slowly and letting reality outpace me. Would Network have seemed so prescient if it were released in 1990?
Regardless of the answer to the above question, I obviously need to get my ass in gear. Otherwise, my book is going to look like an article in the NY Times Sunday Magazine instead of a work of fiction. Damn!