(no subject)
I keep typoing my own name as "Drek", which seems apposite.
For the last two nights I have been seconded to an additional brief of SPECIFICALLY stories about child abuse, neglect, and murder, on top of the relentless press last night covering the murder of one of our nicer MPs. I have developed a talent for getting caught in torrential rain.
Blogs
Recipe: Protein cake
Also I managed to convince myself last night that rearranging my planning document into a more logical order constituted working on my book, as my brain is 4000% fried and cannot make decisions, words, or thought patterns very well.
My personal life has become less frog-boily, but I distrust this. This has happened once (albeit less dramatically) already, and it turned out to be a mild reprieve. I continue to enjoy Preacher. I continue to enjoy my latest garbage Golden Era murder mystery although as I am principally reading it at 5am while dying of sleep deprivation (difficulty sleeping, mmm, I wonder why) on a moving vehicle I don't know how much I am taking in. I accidentally bought three more books (two by Natsuo Kirino, whose crime novel Out I enjoyed, and one pop neurology book by Pingy's friend Dean).
Actual human creatures or something very like them are purchasing my novel. I am continuing to beat the drum loudly and passionately and occasionally coherently because it is still currently only a very small fraction of the people I know to be solvent, literate, and allegedly my friends, and this book deserves to be read and discussed. That is how books live.
I have been fantasising relentlessly about swimming in the sea. It is mind-boggling to think I might one day be able to do that again.
ETA: Well I was right, LITERALLY FIVE MINUTES AFTER MAKING THIS POST, FROG GOES BACK IN THE SAUCEPAN.
For the last two nights I have been seconded to an additional brief of SPECIFICALLY stories about child abuse, neglect, and murder, on top of the relentless press last night covering the murder of one of our nicer MPs. I have developed a talent for getting caught in torrential rain.
Blogs
Recipe: Protein cake
Also I managed to convince myself last night that rearranging my planning document into a more logical order constituted working on my book, as my brain is 4000% fried and cannot make decisions, words, or thought patterns very well.
My personal life has become less frog-boily, but I distrust this. This has happened once (albeit less dramatically) already, and it turned out to be a mild reprieve. I continue to enjoy Preacher. I continue to enjoy my latest garbage Golden Era murder mystery although as I am principally reading it at 5am while dying of sleep deprivation (difficulty sleeping, mmm, I wonder why) on a moving vehicle I don't know how much I am taking in. I accidentally bought three more books (two by Natsuo Kirino, whose crime novel Out I enjoyed, and one pop neurology book by Pingy's friend Dean).
Actual human creatures or something very like them are purchasing my novel. I am continuing to beat the drum loudly and passionately and occasionally coherently because it is still currently only a very small fraction of the people I know to be solvent, literate, and allegedly my friends, and this book deserves to be read and discussed. That is how books live.
I have been fantasising relentlessly about swimming in the sea. It is mind-boggling to think I might one day be able to do that again.
ETA: Well I was right, LITERALLY FIVE MINUTES AFTER MAKING THIS POST, FROG GOES BACK IN THE SAUCEPAN.