The official blog of Michelle Tuckett, word ninja.

Me: Hey, God! Check this out! I’m totally making plans!

God: Lol! Good luck with that.

This month is starting to feel like the punch line to a long and drawn out joke. The pressure is on with this 12 novels project along with me characteristically biting off much more than I can chew, such as turning this month’s novel into a blog, and getting attacked by a facehugger novel, and starting martial arts training and deciding to clean my entire house really really well. All in the last month.

Also, I had an epiphany while watching Top Gear (UK – the American version kinda sucks). Next year, I want to take a stunt driving class. I want to know how to power slide and do 180s and 360s and make my tires billow plumes of blue smoke. It’s sort of hard to explain how much I want to do this, how much I love cars and driving, but this is something I just know I want.

I even googled and found the school I want to attend. I can’t wait – it will be my reward for finishing the year.

And then it hit me. Not an epiphany or a realization or a thought. A car. Which was also hit by a car. Luckily, I was in my trusty steed at the time. Even more luckily, I made a new writer friend out of it (Hi, Scott!).

The whole story of the accident is pretty uninspired. Here in Utah, when it doesn’t rain for a while the roads soak up lots of oil and stuff, and this all floats on the surface in a layer of slippery evil when if finally rains. It may do the same in your area, but I’ve only driven here enough to know.

The day it rains, accidents are everywhere, small groups of cars in little conga lines pulled to the side of the road, hazards flashing like it’s a rainy day paryt and they’re just waiting for a cop to come and break it all up. For the first time, I got invited to the party. I stopped, the guy behind me almost did the same, the girl behind him tried and hydroplaned into him, into me etc. Pull over the conga line and start up the blinking lights.

On a rainy day, it can take over an hour for a police officer to show up at an accident and get everyone going where they were headed to begin with. Most other days, it’s more like twenty minutes, because it’s small like that here.

That left us lots of time to chat. About writing, for one thing among many, and it all felt a little cosmic, at least for Scott the writer-not-writing, who I now realize is probably taking care of a newborn and not reading this. It was cosmic because he literally ran into someone who could tell him to write. And I was able to remember what it’s all about, the writing thing. Tell stories, churn out rough drafts, stick to and trust the process. I hope to hear from him soon about his new writing plans, so he doesn’t have to collide with his destiny again white so dramatically.

As for me? Stunt driving girl?

Did I mention this is my first accident in something like seven or eight years?

Also, did you know accidents hurt like hell?

Everything hurts now after I do it very long. My arm is tweaked, my back spasms at random intervals, my legs get tingly and numb when I walk around too much.

Pretty much everything but writing hurts.

And I just so happen to need to write like 40,000 words in the next ten days.

Yep. Cosmic.

That god, whomever or whatever it may be, has a wicked awful sense of humor. And I am grateful.

For the most part, anyway.