I know, I said I'd never post a picture of myself on my blog. I heartily disapprove of that, as you well know.
However, this one shows off my new rack the best.
Does it rock or what? (Yes, yes, that's me putting on sunglasses.)
Yeah, I know. It rocks.
later Shit, I just realized I have more to say. This week coming up is one of those hellacious... hellasious... hellashus weeks that we all get from time to time. If I don't sleep or take time to eat sitting down I might... fuck, who am I kidding? I still won't get it all done. This is a week when I scream at the top of my lungs: I'M ONLY ONE WOMAN!!
We are coming off a relaxing weekend up at the lake. Decent snow for Novemeber so we got to try out the new snowmobile, henseforth and herewith termed the "sled" on this blog because only dorks and young children call them snowmobiles. (I'm only saying it once, well, twice: snowmobile=sled.) It's a two-seater Polaris 600. Burgundy (I know, ick) but it cranks so it's all good.
The book is... going. GodDAMN I hate when I'm so close to the end and I still don't totally know the end. I just learned... warning: SPOILERS!... that this guy Raevan is actually a magician under glamour. Before he was an annoying baddie, but now he's an life-threatening baddie. (Sean is waaay too pristine and nice. He's about to get his ass whupped bigtime.) I also know the bad boys are gonna kill each other off conveniently, (bad guys are so violent. Never can just agree to disagree, you know.) and therein lies our guy Sean's emotional crisis and resolve, and that the Queen (cuz chics kick ass) is gonna come help save the day. But what it all looks like, what they say, what they wear, the wounds they recieve and what color the buildings are... I don't know. This is supposed to be the joyful part, but there's not much joy in saying to oneself:
You may as well stick a needle in the vein and write in blood, cuz this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker.
The truly sucky part is that the book has such great potential. I'm eager to get it in the hands of agents and editors and get it sold. But it can't be great, or even good, until it's got a solid finish. I'm itchy to write, but when I do it's like I have to take itty bitty bites of my pie instead of gobbling the whole thing down like a big pig. I want to be a pig. I want to nosh.
Ok, back to it.
Drip, drip, drip...