"It's a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver." (115)
Cloudier as the day wore on. Our high was 71˚F.
This paper...a hundred sticky notes, a thousand proofreaders marks in red and black ink and in pencil, "still-to-do" lists, loose threads, unanswered questions, confusing formatting guidelines. That is where it stands. Today, I was going to go to McWane and work out some of the very last bits of this thing with Jun, but after getting up at six and sinking more long hours into editing, I didn't have the energy I needed to leave the house. So, I'm gonna try to go in Monday. I did email the most recent and 97% "final" draft to Jun. That took a Herculean denial of my perfectionism.
On Twitter, I said, "I have reached that point that always arrives for me, when a paper is almost ready for submission, and I'm pretty sure it's a work of utter and absolute incompetence."
In the end, even if it did take me about six months to complete a 38-page ms., the picky shit at the bottom isn't all that different from working on one of my novels or short-fiction collections. Especially the latter. Editing a spider web for me.
There's nothing else, really. Well, Elon Musk is an ass. There's that. The demise of Twitter says something about the fundamentally unstable nature of the entire internet that we ought to be paying attention to. It also says something about how so many people get so caught up in something so inherently shallow. Twitter, that is. Elon Musk is an ass, and Twitter was always a sucker's game.
Me, I'm happy to be a "hall monitor," Mr. Musk.
I wish I could believe the world has reached "peak" pettiness, but I fear it's gonna get a lot worse.
The afternoon's film was David Leitch's Atomic Blonde (2017).
But you know, take a load off and have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
4:16 p.m.
This paper...a hundred sticky notes, a thousand proofreaders marks in red and black ink and in pencil, "still-to-do" lists, loose threads, unanswered questions, confusing formatting guidelines. That is where it stands. Today, I was going to go to McWane and work out some of the very last bits of this thing with Jun, but after getting up at six and sinking more long hours into editing, I didn't have the energy I needed to leave the house. So, I'm gonna try to go in Monday. I did email the most recent and 97% "final" draft to Jun. That took a Herculean denial of my perfectionism.
On Twitter, I said, "I have reached that point that always arrives for me, when a paper is almost ready for submission, and I'm pretty sure it's a work of utter and absolute incompetence."
In the end, even if it did take me about six months to complete a 38-page ms., the picky shit at the bottom isn't all that different from working on one of my novels or short-fiction collections. Especially the latter. Editing a spider web for me.
There's nothing else, really. Well, Elon Musk is an ass. There's that. The demise of Twitter says something about the fundamentally unstable nature of the entire internet that we ought to be paying attention to. It also says something about how so many people get so caught up in something so inherently shallow. Twitter, that is. Elon Musk is an ass, and Twitter was always a sucker's game.
Me, I'm happy to be a "hall monitor," Mr. Musk.
I wish I could believe the world has reached "peak" pettiness, but I fear it's gonna get a lot worse.
The afternoon's film was David Leitch's Atomic Blonde (2017).
But you know, take a load off and have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
4:16 p.m.