(no subject)

Huh. Apparently there really is a line reference in His Last Bow to Holmes shooting VR in his wall. And apparently cocaine was used as a topical anesthesia for eye surgery, which explains that other comment. Drinking it is a bit much, though.

Boy is gone for till Saturday early evening or so. This is less than ideal.

Now, posting the Russian that I forgot to post this morning:

Составьте предложения.

Обраезц: ваш новый сосед -- Как зовут вашего нового соседа?

Как зовут этого американского инженера?
Как зовут этую молодую продавщицу?
Как зовут их зубного врача?
Как зовут твоей новую учительницу?
Как зовут вашего любимого писателя?
Как зовут твоего племянника?
Как зовут этой умную студентку?
Как зовут симпатичного музыканта?
Как зовут нашего нового менеджера?
Как зовут старшего брата?
Как зовут вашу мать?
Как зовут его бабушки?
Как зовут твоего дедушку?
Как зовут твою племянницу?
Как их зовут?
Как зовут твою сестру?


And from the icon! That I need to make this weekend, Russian for 'O RLY?':
О действительно?

Ugh. Finished the stupid German translation, which si why you haven't been inundated with German these days. Stupid massive translation with ridiculously specific vocabulary.

(no subject)

Составьте предложения Construct meaningful and grammatically correct sentences from the following elements. Do not change word order but do conjugate the verbs and put the direct obects in the accusative case.

наш	мой	ваш	твой
	я	родители	преподаватель	сосед(ка) по комнате	друг
любить	читать	писать	знать	слушать
мой брат и моя сестра	русская литература	этот русский писатель	американские газеты	интересная книга	новый роман	интересные письма	американская музыка

Я любю интересную книгу.
Моя мать читает американские газеты.
Моя подруга любит новый роман.
Наш друг пишет интересную книгу.

Aaaand. More tomor... later today? Today's Friday. I forgot. Oi so scattered.

(no subject)

Brrrrcold. Why is it bloody Siberian in North Dakota? Why is it 16/-1 degrees here? What the hell, weather? I don't want it to be cold anymore. I want it to be spring. Or at least a good 50 degrees. Hell, I'd almost settle for 45. Something. Anything so that my hands don't freeze every time a customer opens and closes the door. At least it's Friday. I have a weekend of hiding at home now. And hopefully a boyfriend coming home tomorrow. The apartment is echoing empty.

My first week of putting up prompts for a writing comm went well! And my first week of keeping track of how much I write is going well, too. Big Bangs are coming along steadily and, seriously. Either I need to develop some willpower or people need to stop posting about Big Bangs because I have four novels I'm working on selling, writing, editing, and submitting this year, and I do not have time to do more Big Bangs. I already tentatively signed up for the Holmes Big Bang (and was rightfully yelled at for it) and... well. On the other hand, I'm 3/5 of the way done with my Dresden Files fic for apocabigbang and a fair chunk of the way done with the Angel fic for same. So there's that. And I'm just about up to date on prompts which is a minor miracle.

I'm still a little squirrelly on the whole selling my own book, self-publishing thing. On the one hand, uber-cool! On the other hand, eek. Having to be my own marketing department. There's two or three places just off the top of my head that I could go sell at, and things like that, but it's still... something. It's big. And kind of scary. And we won't even go into the other route, the endless parade of query letters and cover letters and sending to agents and sending to small press publishing companies, or anyone that will accept unagented submissions. I got close, once! An editor from Putnam said he really liked my novel. That was five years ag... well, closer to four years ago, but still. I never found an agent so I never got a chance to submit it. ARGH. And scary. Very, very scary.

Still, you know. Here goes nothing. It's Friday night. I will curl up in blankets with my cats and my laptop, put on something mindless, and write. Write my prompts, write my big bang, and read over one of my novels to make notes for fleshing it out and self-publishing. And possibly read over another for more edits and more submitting. And make a list of places to submit it to.

Seriously, folks, if you want to be a writer? Don't. Do anything you can, but don't be a writer, until you realize you just can't not be. It's excruciating, annoying, and hell on your ego.