It's annoyingly ironic that here in the last full week of the journal as a day-to-day journal I really don't have much to say. It wasn't supposed to be that way, but the world does conspire. I'm sitting here all day finding the final piece of this book, Cherry Bomb, and I'm not doing much else. I'm not going out of doors, except that token step
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I am acquainted with a few indie writers who I believe have a very romantic view of their own endeavors, especially in this era, and I find it interesting now how institutionalized the whole notion has become. But they likely need those illusions to survive. Myself, though I knew I would write, I didn't want what I perceived as the thankless life of a writer (your analogy of pimping out the platypus always comes to mind).
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Romanticizing the life of a freelance....I know it's a venerable institution, that, but it's bafflingly wrongheaded.
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Thank you. Hopefully by Friday or Saturday.
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I do.
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Easy for you to say.
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Anyway, good luck.
Partially because of your comments I got Frozen. VERY good.
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Partially because of your comments I got Frozen. VERY good.
Glad you liked it!
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I'm one of those who've fled LJ for other venues,
I've just seen no better venue.
So, again, thank you.
You are welcome.
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I really never give much thought to how my fiction will affect people. It is fair toe ay I haven't much interest in satisfying other people.
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It may, yes. And it keeps me from ever pandering.
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