BOOK UPDATE: I am now halfway through a very rough draft of my novel (book, pamphlet, etc.). I suspect I will be spending the rest of the month (or more) editing, so expect the word count to remain steady or drop.
I'm sure it's not really something you look forward to learning about, as if no Friday is complete without a word count on my book. But, as I've said before: my blog -- I can write all the boring, uninteresting stuff my tedious heart can stand.
I'm really starting to take sense of pride in this project, though, and actually believing that I will get it done. I am notorious for leaving things half-finished. Hopefully once it is all done, other people will think it is good, too. My wife has read (or listened to me read) segments from the book and says that it is good, but she would say that, wouldn't she? It's hardly supportive to be honest in such a situation is it?
"I know it's your dream to be a novelist, honey, but, seriously -- you should pack it in. That book is a stinking pile of poo."
Have you got Olympic fever? We do around here. My benevolent employer is behind this rather important website (don't go developing any new sense of respect for me, I have absolutely nothing to do with this project), and people were jumping today.
I work in a closet in the basement, which is also where they keep all the technical geniuses (in the basement, not my closet). Today I heard this conversation:
"It doesn't appear to be staging. Is that a hard code thing, or?"
"Yeah. I think it's the hard coding."
Sounds darn important, whatever they were talking about. While they panicked, I ate the last Krispy Kreme donut.
Ever have one of those days when a song from 10 years ago gets stuck in your head? Today it's "Labour of Love" by Frente!
You have to write their name that way: "Frente!" It's like "WWE Smackdown!"
Frente! only had that one song, really. I wore out their cassette (that's how we used to listen to music, ask your parents) in the summer of 1994, when I drove to and from summer school in a black 1989 Ford Mustang convertible. I thought I was the coolest guy on the planet -- driving my dad's car and listening to chirpy Australian pop music.
The average lifespan of a horse is 20 years. At 3 years old, Smarty Jones is being retired and put out to stud. In people years I think that works out to be the equivalent of 18 years old. Imagine if someone had come to you at age 18: "OK, bud, you're done with all the tough stuff in life. All you have to do now is hang out in this nice field and have sex."
Man. It's good to be Smarty Jones.
Here's yet another sign that I'm doing things wrong in life: Little girls are making $112 a day selling lemonade.
So, along with everything else, you can probably now forget about taking any spicy Thai curry aboard your next flight.
Sometimes a job posting gives away a little bitterness toward the employer's previous employees. Sometimes it gives away a lot of bitterness.