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Jul. 6th, 2006 08:56 amFucking fireworks have been going off all week. Since Saturday. Something like that. Now I know how a certain person on my f-list feels in November. This didn't happen last year!
I'm going to get a bunch of fireworks and set them off for Guy Fawkes. Confuse the fuck out of everyone here. And then I'm going to watch a lot of Shakespeare and when people come to the door to ask what's going on I'm going to tell them in a very snooty voice that I'm celebrating the triumph ofCatholicism Protestantism Catholicism? Protestantism. Order over anarchy. Something like that.
Writing scares me. I recieve a glowing note from the reviewer (and rejections from three others, although one said I should have no trouble finding an agent, so... that was helpful?) and now all of a sudden I'm freaking out because the rest of my novel can't possibly be that good and he'll be disappointed. Bah. Bah, I say. I will, however, query the agent he recommended me to tomorrow. And send him a thank you note. Maybe today, depending on how early I get off work.
This week is the week for dreaming about friends I haven't seen since elementary school and old boyfriends I haven't seen since high school. Huh.
I'm tired. And I want ... something. Things to stop happening. My car to stop being old and fucked up. As long as the shocks last till next Friday, I'll have enough money to take it in and get it patched up. Stupid rustbucket.
As long as the car lasts another year, Goddess willing, if I get published by Putnam they might actually give me an advance big enough to get a new-used car. Something that's 3 years old instead of 13.
Dream on.
I'm going to get a bunch of fireworks and set them off for Guy Fawkes. Confuse the fuck out of everyone here. And then I'm going to watch a lot of Shakespeare and when people come to the door to ask what's going on I'm going to tell them in a very snooty voice that I'm celebrating the triumph of
Writing scares me. I recieve a glowing note from the reviewer (and rejections from three others, although one said I should have no trouble finding an agent, so... that was helpful?) and now all of a sudden I'm freaking out because the rest of my novel can't possibly be that good and he'll be disappointed. Bah. Bah, I say. I will, however, query the agent he recommended me to tomorrow. And send him a thank you note. Maybe today, depending on how early I get off work.
This week is the week for dreaming about friends I haven't seen since elementary school and old boyfriends I haven't seen since high school. Huh.
I'm tired. And I want ... something. Things to stop happening. My car to stop being old and fucked up. As long as the shocks last till next Friday, I'll have enough money to take it in and get it patched up. Stupid rustbucket.
As long as the car lasts another year, Goddess willing, if I get published by Putnam they might actually give me an advance big enough to get a new-used car. Something that's 3 years old instead of 13.
Dream on.