General Smith Allen

You know what? I think from now on it's safe to assume I don't have a job, because when I do have a job, I'll likely have a huge post about how amazing it is to be employed (and how I'm okay with turning 35).

In the meantime.

I'm starting to freak out about Aigaion Girl. I just realized that I have a month and a half to finish editing it if I want it to be ready for the fall, and I really, really want it to be ready for the fall. Like, a lot. So much so that I actually misused 'like' in writing and am not going back to fix it. A. Lot. As well as editing it, I have to format it, design a cover for it and convert it into PDF. Okay, so the last part will take two seconds, but the formatting is likely to take approximately forever, and I'm scared that I'll screw it up somehow. For right now, the big thing is editing. I'm almost done editing one of my main characters. I have two and a half more main, three secondary and one background character to edit (it's written from the individual perspectives of a bunch of people), which I really want to get done by the end of this month, because then the actual story-edits start. Yeah, I'm freaking out just a tiny bit.

Also, I've noticed that when I'm... oh, how to put this delicately... when I'm being visited by my least-favourite aunt, I find that I'm more forgiving of asshole men who do not, under any circumstances, deserve anything from me, much less my forgiveness. I get all soft and feminine, and I think things that are absolutely ridiculous, like that said men might have a snowball's chance in Hell of ever winning back my affection. Obviously, this is beyond insane, and I put it down to hormones, because really. I mean, come on.

My back is killing me. I hate this desk.

I have no idea who General Smith Allen is, if indeed he is anybody. I typed in the word general, and the Smith Allen just flowed along after it. Whatever. I do the same thing when I draw. Every couple of pages in all of my sketch books is a drawing surrounded by weird little things I don't remember writing. An alarming number of them say things like: I hate my life and kill me, but a lot of them just say things that are completely and totally messed up and make absolutely no sense. A couple of them are scrawled sideways as if I had my eyes closed at the time, and warn about the perrils of trying to write in your sleep.

Anywho.

I miss people. I miss Claytron and I miss Morgan and I miss Dr. Allard who taught my Romanticism class, and Mr. Root, who taught Writer's Craft.

I think I should go. This is starting to read like I'm drunk and I'm not. Next up, reviews of whatever Terry Pratchett books I've read since my last review. Jingo and Equal Rites and probably one other one, but I can't recall for sure.