Writing has ruined me

Gone are the days when I could flop in front of TV and watch a show without my internal dialog blathering on about how cliché the characters are or how the show’s writer used the wrong point of view, and, oh how could they even think that plot is plausible? I’m ruined. Damaged goods.

#3 daughter ordered me to either shut my piehole when we watch Gossip Girl or leave the room. It’s achingly hard. Come ON…since when do high school juniors drink Manhattans in restaurants? And their dialog? Give me a break; teenagers do not talk like this. Not in my solar system anyway. And let’s not even go there with the wardrobe choices. If this manuscript had crossed my desk, I would have blasted it out of a canon with “Are you on drugs?” etched in red across the top of the page.

I decided to try watching a new show. I’m loath to do this because I fear change. I have my standby’s that I adore and don’t venture too far afield. So I give myself points for watching Raising the Bar. I withstood the cliché lawyers-out-to save-the-world-against-insane-judges for approximately ten minutes before hubby grabbed the red pen out of my hand as I began making critiques on the widescreen.

I think they ought to have a new reality show – how long can you stomach watching TV before gagging, tearing your eyes out with hot pokers, or killing someone. The losing producers would sit above a dunk tank of hot oil, and we could toss exploding bean bags at the target point. That would ensure some quality TV, I daresay.

Thanks to writing, my litmus test nowadays is based on points of view, character continuity between the dialog and plot, plausibility, story arc. I find myself muttering on a nightly basis, “I wouldn’t have written it that way.” I’ve considered not watching TV, but it’s a nice way to rest my eyes after a long day of reading. Besides, my daughter bought me the cutest pink and white muzzle.

In need of Reiki hugs. Send immediately.