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Me me me me me me me...I just love talking about me!
On Thursday night, I finished the last of the big edits for The Finster Effect. Turns out, it's less about zombies than about the fact that I don't care for organized religion. I didn't realize how pissed I was until I got to the end. I'm reading it over tonight one more time, and then giving it to the new publisher tomorrow. I'm stoked!
I'm kinda mad today because I had a weird conversation last night with an old friend. I was told that I talk about myself too much (either bragging about books or complaining about "stupid shit that doesn't even matter"). Turns out, the friend in question was just pissed that my life is steadily improving and their is getting worse. I pointed out that I did 3 years of hard therapy, classes and job counseling, group, EMDR, meds, and other kinds of mindfucking personal work that was neither easy nor fun. But it improved my life. I also pointed out that his that wishing for things is not as effective as actually trying to do stuff.
I'm sick of people acting like me being a published author is some shit I fell ass backwards into. I work my ass off at not just the writing, but marketing, podcasting (writing, editing, recording, dealing with actors), social networking (a life-killing time suck if ever there was one), interviews, various freelance things, research, blogging, and all the money it costs to maintain online space. I get Emails from complete strangers now that expect me to read their unfinished NaNo drafts and make comments--like I have any interest-- or that kind of time.
But I didn't get super angry until this person said "Well, you guys spend all your money on movies and stuff-I spend mine on my family." W.T.F. Seriously. It's especially infuriating given that the overwhelming majority of our "extra money" goes to medical bills. Personally, I try not to bitch about how other people manage their finances until they ask me for money. I guess I'm not used to having the kind of life people are jealous of--especially given that if anything happened to H, I'd be living in a shipping container by year's end. hahahahaha...yeah, like I could really afford my own shipping container.
Anywhoo, my Kindle Touch is still not here. Expected delivery date: 2 days ago. Still waiting. Chatted Amazon up last night and got them to give me a $15 shipping refund--which I actually had to haggle for. They're like "Well, I see that part of your order arrived on time" and I'm like "Yeah, the charger and the case for the Kindle--which isn't here!"
Refund accomplished. Yay! I spent part of that green on Shufflers by James L Grant. Then I realized I already had a pdf of it. Enjoy my money, you tricky bastard!
Honore, H's lovely sister, is coming to town one week from today, and staying for over 2 weeks. I don't typically tolerate guests for so long, especially because our place in tiny. But Girl-H is so awesome. She's an excellent guest, not annoying at all. Doesn't expect me to entertain her even. And she loves JoJo. Then again, how could anyone NOT love JoJo?
Jokes:
Q. What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?
A. the Holocaust
Q. How many potatoes does it take to kill an Irishman?
A. None.
I'm kinda mad today because I had a weird conversation last night with an old friend. I was told that I talk about myself too much (either bragging about books or complaining about "stupid shit that doesn't even matter"). Turns out, the friend in question was just pissed that my life is steadily improving and their is getting worse. I pointed out that I did 3 years of hard therapy, classes and job counseling, group, EMDR, meds, and other kinds of mindfucking personal work that was neither easy nor fun. But it improved my life. I also pointed out that his that wishing for things is not as effective as actually trying to do stuff.
I'm sick of people acting like me being a published author is some shit I fell ass backwards into. I work my ass off at not just the writing, but marketing, podcasting (writing, editing, recording, dealing with actors), social networking (a life-killing time suck if ever there was one), interviews, various freelance things, research, blogging, and all the money it costs to maintain online space. I get Emails from complete strangers now that expect me to read their unfinished NaNo drafts and make comments--like I have any interest-- or that kind of time.
But I didn't get super angry until this person said "Well, you guys spend all your money on movies and stuff-I spend mine on my family." W.T.F. Seriously. It's especially infuriating given that the overwhelming majority of our "extra money" goes to medical bills. Personally, I try not to bitch about how other people manage their finances until they ask me for money. I guess I'm not used to having the kind of life people are jealous of--especially given that if anything happened to H, I'd be living in a shipping container by year's end. hahahahaha...yeah, like I could really afford my own shipping container.
Anywhoo, my Kindle Touch is still not here. Expected delivery date: 2 days ago. Still waiting. Chatted Amazon up last night and got them to give me a $15 shipping refund--which I actually had to haggle for. They're like "Well, I see that part of your order arrived on time" and I'm like "Yeah, the charger and the case for the Kindle--which isn't here!"
Refund accomplished. Yay! I spent part of that green on Shufflers by James L Grant. Then I realized I already had a pdf of it. Enjoy my money, you tricky bastard!
Honore, H's lovely sister, is coming to town one week from today, and staying for over 2 weeks. I don't typically tolerate guests for so long, especially because our place in tiny. But Girl-H is so awesome. She's an excellent guest, not annoying at all. Doesn't expect me to entertain her even. And she loves JoJo. Then again, how could anyone NOT love JoJo?
Jokes:
Q. What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?
A. the Holocaust
Q. How many potatoes does it take to kill an Irishman?
A. None.
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I hate even saying these things, because I feel like a Newtesque asshat pretending all their chicanery is acceptable. But dammit, there's nothing but himself stopping him from writing, or making music, or doing whatever--he just doesn't do anything about his depression, so it's fucking up his life. It still amazes me when smart people lack introspection.
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I don't know the guy, but I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't so much a lack of introspection as having his excuses laid bare. Wow, Wednes was able to accomplish all this by doing such and such. I'm not doing such and such and I'm still fucking up. Damn it! It's her fault for pointing this out to me.
Just a guess...
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