Saved Bites, This Bites, Rat Bite, Bird Bite

It looks like it might turn out all right, with that foodbag I left out yesterday morning. I rang the grocery shop once I got off work, and asked if there was any chance in hell I could re-order the food for this morning. There wasn't, but when the manager found out what had happened, he said he'd at least try and fix things so I wouldn't have to pay twice. I said he shouldn't bother--it was, after all, entirely my fault--but he insisted it was fine. I hope nobody gets in trouble, on my account. That was a lot of food, right there. Pricey, sort of thing.

In other news, I think I might have to rewrite my entire novel. At 28,000 words, I'm just realising I do a miserable impression of someone not Scottish. I've got everyone talking like the cast of an American sitcom--a bad one, too. King of Queens, maybe. Sod. I've been to America. I know how they talk--don't I? I should. I've been living right by them for years. Only, nobody talks like this, surely:

"Mr. Goldman?"

Arthur jumped, knocking the soda can into the sink. It clattered alarmingly. He clapped his hands over his ears.

"Mr. Goldman! What's the matter?"

He dropped his hands, feeling mildly ridiculous. Sherry was standing in the doorway, mouth agape.

"I got--" His voice was all scrapey. He stopped and swallowed hard. "I got something on my hand. Something sticky." He tried a sheepish grin.

"Ectoplasm?"

"What?"

"You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Yeah, the ghost of a jelly donut*." He laughed, feeling the nervous tension go out of him. It left wooziness in its place, and he leaned on the counter, hoping Sherry wouldn't notice.

Maybe it's not so much what's being said, as the connecting bits in between. Americans don't say "all scrapey." It messes everything up, having stuff like that in a story seen from the point of view of an American guy. I've probably got all the cultural references skew-wiff, as well. Which, now that I think of it, reminds me of another problem. I might talk like a Scot, but I can't remember the last time I was in Scotland. It's been at least eight years, and maybe as many as twelve. And I've always made an effort to appear more English than Scottish, owing to embarrassment. Thus, I'm more familiar with England, culturally speaking. And now, I live in Canada.

Sod it. What's the point? No matter where I set the bloody thing, I'm bound to get something wrong. This novel is the worst! The absolute pits! Literary sewage! Maybe I'll go all pretentious, and say the setting's deliberately ambiguous. Why? So it'll have universal appeal, maybe. Don't ask me. I don't know anything. This one'll be a test run, I think. There are too many mistakes in it. I'll finish it, do a token second draft, then write a new one. I've got another idea, already. It has to do with a dustman, his horrible miser wife, and a bunch of talking birds.

Then again, maybe this one's not completely irreparable. It's too early to tell. First drafts are meant to be a bit pants, aren't they? That's what it says on the Internet. The idea of a first draft is to write everything down, get the stupid thing on paper (or, in this case, on disk). Then, you go back and fix all the cock-ups. You can take bits out, put other bits in, and rewrite things entirely. I'll make someone else read it, when I'm through. That should put things in perspective.

Augh. What a pain. Why did I start doing this? I won't be able to stop, now, not till I get it right.

Also, Miss Blue got out of the cage, this morning, and bit me on the eyebrow. She left a red mark. I had to throw a T-shirt over her to get her to stop flying around, and she bit that, too. These birds are really ungrateful.

Last week, Rat B bit my thumb. I was feeding her baby carrots, and she got a little overeager. Stupid rat.

* Case in point: I'm not even sure what that is. Is the jelly on the donut, or in the donut? Is there jelly, at all? Maybe the name's just a wry reference to the saturated fat content, or the way your thighs look after you eat one? I hate donuts**. I never eat them. I see them on TV, sometimes, but I don't really look. I put "jelly donut" because it was in Full Metal Jacket. Fuck, that movie's ancient. I bet they don't even make them any more. I used to live in Ontario, which is, now that I think of it, donut capital of the world. I should know this!

** Except those wee glazey ones. I like those, sometimes. I'd rather have carrot cake, if the option was open, but I wouldn't say no to a wee glazey one.