There are two topics that make my eyes instantly glaze over. Numbers and, well, numbers. Doesn't matter what kind of numbers or what they represent. The results are even worse when numbers are combined for that mind-numbing task we call math.
Yesterday I had to figure how many days of writing until I reached The End. It was a sad sight: me, a sheet of paper, a calculator, and a right brain trying to make sense of it all. It's like reinventing the wheel each time.
How many words do I average per page? How many pages have I written? How many words do I owe my publisher? How many pages do I write a day? How many licks does it take to get to the bottom--no wait, that's a different equation. Now, where was I?
I don't think I'm alone either. My suspicions were confirmed last summer at a writers' retreat when Kristin and I roomed together. You want disaster? Combine two right-brainies and an alarm clock that's set an hour ahead of real time. We couldn't figure out how to change the time. (I swear, there was no button for it.) Each night we strained our brains. We need to wake at six. Do we set the alarm for five or seven? Insert scratching heads, counting on fingers, stubby pencil and eraser. It wasn't pretty.
Imagine my horror when the alarm clock for our writers' conference in the fall put Diann and I in the same situation. Again. Not pretty. Thank God Colleen was rooming with us or we'd still be trying to figure it out.