Birthday post
So... it's my birthday. Do I feel any older? Nope, not really. I'm just thinking about all the work I have to do right now. Let's see, I have to revise an essay for Brit-lit, though that shouldn't take me long. I've got to finish up another rough draft essay for American-lit and that is what I'm currently struggling with, and then I've still got to find more sources for this research paper I'm writing for Textual interpretation and theory, weeeeo, that's a mouthful of a class.
I am stressed about these things, but not as much as I thought I would be, weird huh? I like to remain hopeful.
I'm also thinking about new story ideas, one idea in a long series of stories which sort of, took on a life of it's own after the first one. I don't mind though, it's a great series and I love the characters and the fun I have writing it.
The other has to do with a sequel to a Civil War novel I'm writing. Well... it isn't exactly a novel, more like a minny-novel. What's that called, a novella? I think that's what it's called, but I fall into pits of doubt about this story a lot because I think it can get too done to death if you know what I mean. I'm trying my hardest not to make it look like Gone With The Wind. Eww, that piece of trash can go back to book hell where it belongs. It doesn't even deserve to be written on paper, it's a waste of a perfectly good tree!
Sometimes I'll be in book stores and I'll look at the cheap crap they have and the sorry excuses for romance novels and I'll think to myself, how in the world did this get published?
But this is an incredibly long stream of pointless thought and I was supposed to be talking about my birthday. All I can ay about that is this. It's here, it'll be here again, and I really just don't have the time to give it much attention right now. I loved the E-cards and phone calls I already received, "I before E rule, remember that Magnuson." and I hope that everyone's day is warm and good. Mine will be what I can make it I guess.
Bye for now, I'm off to bead to sleep through eight hours of my day of birth.
Love to all,
Laura
I am stressed about these things, but not as much as I thought I would be, weird huh? I like to remain hopeful.
I'm also thinking about new story ideas, one idea in a long series of stories which sort of, took on a life of it's own after the first one. I don't mind though, it's a great series and I love the characters and the fun I have writing it.
The other has to do with a sequel to a Civil War novel I'm writing. Well... it isn't exactly a novel, more like a minny-novel. What's that called, a novella? I think that's what it's called, but I fall into pits of doubt about this story a lot because I think it can get too done to death if you know what I mean. I'm trying my hardest not to make it look like Gone With The Wind. Eww, that piece of trash can go back to book hell where it belongs. It doesn't even deserve to be written on paper, it's a waste of a perfectly good tree!
Sometimes I'll be in book stores and I'll look at the cheap crap they have and the sorry excuses for romance novels and I'll think to myself, how in the world did this get published?
But this is an incredibly long stream of pointless thought and I was supposed to be talking about my birthday. All I can ay about that is this. It's here, it'll be here again, and I really just don't have the time to give it much attention right now. I loved the E-cards and phone calls I already received, "I before E rule, remember that Magnuson." and I hope that everyone's day is warm and good. Mine will be what I can make it I guess.
Bye for now, I'm off to bead to sleep through eight hours of my day of birth.
Love to all,
Laura