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roadrunnertwiceI still haven't really done a this-is-my-life-now post! I MAY NEVER. Been busy, yeah. What with? Well.
I am Commuting. If you add up the walking and waiting and trainrides both ways, it comes to about three hours a day, which seems kind of mad for only eight hours of work? I think that once I settle in some more, I may gently inquire about working four tens (or nines) a week. Which would entail some Ass-Crack-O-Dawning, but it miiiight be worth it. Certainly it'd be easier to go to bed at an early hour if I had three days to do as I pleased. We'll see whether the workweek will even permit dropping a day; the stream of tasks is fairly steady.
I'm not completely wasting those hours, though. I've been—get this shit—writing. Longhand.* I'm finally putting that notebook Polly and Amanda got me to good use, and am—where doing it man, where MAKING THIS HAPEN—writing Lulu and the Constellations, the first book of Lulu and the Wine-Dark Sea. Slowly, but considering I just finished a chapter today, I may be able to get away with calling it "Shirley." (I've never understood that idiom. Who the hell is Shirley?)
But so yeah, woooo! Next: NaNoWriMo? (JESUS FUCK NO AAUGH.)
What happened to The Cheaters? It's just not ripe. Neither is Lulu, really, but that one's the sort of unripe that reveals itself as you write, and it's a type of story that will react a lot better to some liberal seat-of-pantsing. Cheaters is the sort of unripe that just has to simmer, and forcing the issue hasn't been accomplishing jack shit. I'm a much different person than I was when I started that book, and it's simply not going to come together until I can bring the fundamental underpinnings of it into line with the head and heart as they currently be. And I've finally decided that the conscious brain can't do that, and I need to get out of the unconscious's way for a bit while it does its thing.
It'll be back. The thematic material is killer, and I'm still convinced it'll be an awesome book someday. I absolutely can't write it this year.
And work, right. So I'm working for a place called Quiktrak, which inspects shit. (You're a bank, you're loaning some bakery 30k for a new oven: you want to take a look around and make sure the up is on the up, because that's just good business. Baker's two states away from corporate, flying there = pain in yer ass and you don't have time for it anyhow, and alas, you don't have a vast network of freelancers who know how to do this shit. So you dial someone who does, viz. Quiktrak.) I'm in the editorial dep't, where we receive freelancer reports, sanity-check and edit/re-write them, and output bullet-points and comprehensible text in the appropriate corporate-speak.
That's right: I am a third-person narrator.
Things:
I am Commuting. If you add up the walking and waiting and trainrides both ways, it comes to about three hours a day, which seems kind of mad for only eight hours of work? I think that once I settle in some more, I may gently inquire about working four tens (or nines) a week. Which would entail some Ass-Crack-O-Dawning, but it miiiight be worth it. Certainly it'd be easier to go to bed at an early hour if I had three days to do as I pleased. We'll see whether the workweek will even permit dropping a day; the stream of tasks is fairly steady.
I'm not completely wasting those hours, though. I've been—get this shit—writing. Longhand.* I'm finally putting that notebook Polly and Amanda got me to good use, and am—where doing it man, where MAKING THIS HAPEN—writing Lulu and the Constellations, the first book of Lulu and the Wine-Dark Sea. Slowly, but considering I just finished a chapter today, I may be able to get away with calling it "Shirley." (I've never understood that idiom. Who the hell is Shirley?)
But so yeah, woooo! Next: NaNoWriMo? (JESUS FUCK NO AAUGH.)
What happened to The Cheaters? It's just not ripe. Neither is Lulu, really, but that one's the sort of unripe that reveals itself as you write, and it's a type of story that will react a lot better to some liberal seat-of-pantsing. Cheaters is the sort of unripe that just has to simmer, and forcing the issue hasn't been accomplishing jack shit. I'm a much different person than I was when I started that book, and it's simply not going to come together until I can bring the fundamental underpinnings of it into line with the head and heart as they currently be. And I've finally decided that the conscious brain can't do that, and I need to get out of the unconscious's way for a bit while it does its thing.
It'll be back. The thematic material is killer, and I'm still convinced it'll be an awesome book someday. I absolutely can't write it this year.
* (No, the hand's still not anything better than Vile Scrawl. Haven't yet had the stomach for drilling, and I'm not entirely convinced it would help much. Besides, uh, train?)
And work, right. So I'm working for a place called Quiktrak, which inspects shit. (You're a bank, you're loaning some bakery 30k for a new oven: you want to take a look around and make sure the up is on the up, because that's just good business. Baker's two states away from corporate, flying there = pain in yer ass and you don't have time for it anyhow, and alas, you don't have a vast network of freelancers who know how to do this shit. So you dial someone who does, viz. Quiktrak.) I'm in the editorial dep't, where we receive freelancer reports, sanity-check and edit/re-write them, and output bullet-points and comprehensible text in the appropriate corporate-speak.
That's right: I am a third-person narrator.
Things:
- Scrapbook page: Baby's first corporate job!
- It turns out to not usually require corporate drag. Sometimes I dress up just for the hell of it, though.
- Also, the first job to put more than an eighth or so of my degree to use. (I mean, it's sorta textual analysis, although we're allowed to fall back on authorial intent and call the inspector back.)
- Also, it entails being entrusted with a lot of medium-sensitive information, which is interesting.
- And it's surprisingly full of stories: mostly stories about business, and they always start in media res and fade out without a real ending, but I'm seeing and reading about a lot of stuff I've never dealt with before, and when it's not irritating or depressing, it's fascinating. I am Seeing America Right. Kindasorta.
- I could use some more ergonomics. (Finally got my home computer setup just the way I wanted it, but apparently that doesn't mean I can retire from desk-tweaking. More's the pity.)