Let's say we do 1,000 stupid things every 10 years...which makes 100 stupid things every year...which makes 1 stupid thing every 3.65 days.
I actually do more than that, but go with me here.
I was mad into building to the climax of my second middle grade novel, which is a time when I am utterly immersed in my writing and my responses to questions or requests from my family are nothing more than half nods and 'uh huhs,' and I had a sudden idea.
A brilliant idea. Something that could revolutionize the world of Children's Books into a fit and frenzy where everyone would fall on their knees holding their hands to their hearts and call me a genius. And, me being me, I whipped this idea into a succint email and shipped it off to an agent.
An agent that I think I actually like...and might have sought for representation... and might have the chance to meet when I go to Bologna, Italy at the end of March for the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators Symposium.
Stupid Thing Number 3,914.
I rounded up. It came early.
He, of course, very politely wrote back with "uhhh...ok...this is probably not for me. And please don't try to find me with your boiling bunny in Bologna." Ok, he didn't actually say that, but my interpretation of his response is such.
So now I'm praying. I'm praying that he is NOT one of the people who are critiquing my two manuscripts while I'm at the conference, because I would probably mutter something unintelligible that would age me ten years in the Stupid Things count.
Though at this point, I'm not sure I can get too much older in that department.