We have come, my friends, to that Time of Year again. When all I want to do is hide in my house. No, I don’t want to go out. No, I don’t care if the sun just came up. As I left for work today at 7:30, it was eighty-three freaking degrees outside. I ask […]
This year it looks like I’ll only have about two weeks off work. (I know–only?) That may, possibly, be enough time to edit one novel, but it certainly isn’t time enough for more than one. So, alas, no Doomy Summer of Editing DOOM this year. It’s not DOOM if it’s only one novel. Geez. I
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I started reading an article yesterday in which the writer railed against everything from profanity in blogs (somehow relating this to Fight Club) to indie authors calling themselves “indie” when all self-publishing is crap. Apparently the only novels that are self-published are the ones not good enough to be traditionally published. And when I say railing,
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I am grumpy. Things are not going as I would wish, and I don’t get to just make everything work. I cannot make people be nice to my friends, I cannot forcibly change people’s minds, and I am grumpy. My twelve-year-old is also grumpy. She spent a couple nights at a friend’s, staying up way
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Well…there’s some progress. Four more pages edited, and 350 words on another scene I’ve found I need. A whole lot of coughing, sneezing, hacking, wheezing, complaining, miserying… Something tells me I’m not getting done in a week.
I made it! Stumbled in a few minutes late, but I made it! And, boy, am I sorry. Bleh. Who the hell left all this crap in my office? Last week it was cleaned out and pretty, but this week the custodians brought all the crap back… Sigh.
Last night I went into my room to go to bed and discovered someone thought my Madagascar Dragon Tree was a litterbox, and knocked it over trying to use it. I growled and swore and cleaned it up and went to bed. I woke up at a quarter of five. That’s okay, I’ve been sleeping