Poker night

Ken and I hosted a poker night last night. I lost most of my money in one hand--I had a K-6, the board had two sixes, I thought I was golden, but I ended up losing to a friend that had A-6, the bastard--and I was out within the first hour. I won the last time we played, so I suppose I was due.

Tomorrow I'm going to send off my story to the anthology editor. I have no idea what to expect. In one fantasy she showers me with compliments and tells me how much she loves it and she's not changing a word, and in the other she tells me that clearly her invitation was a terrible mistake and to go back to english class. The reality will probably be somewhere in the middle--"It's good, but let's change x, y, and z"--but that doesn't stop my insides from churning.

chick night

Tonight is at a buddy's house, so I have the run of the place. After work, I mosey'd around the mall for a bit, tried on a few party dresses just for kicks, and basically made a nuisance of myself. While I was trying on dresses in Penney's, two girlfriend's and one of their--boyfriend? guy-friend?-- was with them, critiquing. Somehow, one of them convinces this dude to try on a dress, too. I caught a glance of him before this went down, and I think the dude was totally straight, but obviously I could be mistaken. They were in the dressing room two doors down from me, laughing and saying things like "Oh, blue isn't your color" and "try the flowers next". In the future they'll look back on this night and remember what fun they had. In the future I'll look back on this night and rethink my gaydar.

Second story is out in the hands of readers. One person has said she liked them both but liked the first one better. We'll see what everyone thinks.

responses

Yesterday I distributed copies of a story that's in the running for my anthology submission. So far I've gotten feedback from two people. One was sort of ambivilant--it's not the type of story he normally reads, but he seemed to like it ok and didn't have any major complaints about it--but the other response really threw me for a loop. To make sense of this, you should know the story is about a widow who receives a pair of earrings that enables her to hear her recently departed husband.

Reader: I liked it.

Me (sensing she is holding back): Listen, don't tell me you liked it to spare my feelings. If you didn't like it, it's ok. Tell me what's wrong with it--

Reader: No, it's not that. (she gets teary eyed) It's just that my mom says that my dad used to talk to her after he passed.

Me: Oh! Oh my God! If I'd have known that, I'd have warned you. I'm so sorry! (I get a bit teary, too.)

Reader: No, no, don't be. I just wanted you to see my real reaction.

Later, she came and apologized, saying she didn't mean to freak me out. I assured her that I wasn't freaked at all. In fact, I found it touching that my words could do that. Like I said, at first I felt bad for making her cry ... but then I was sort of ... I made her cry with what I wrote. I'm the fucking woman!!! So, of course, what has to happen is for another reader to totally trash it so I can get off my high horse already. I hope to have the other story done by Wednesday so the readers can tell me which one they liked best. Whatever story gets the most votes is goin' to the editor.

surviving

I finished my second day by myself on the urine bench today without killing anyone or bleeding out my eyes, so I'm a happy camper. The real test will be tomorrow and Thursday, which are the days with the most cultures. I'm guessing I'll be leaving late, but whatever. They pay me to be there.

On the writing front, I was hitting a wall with my second anthology story until I talked it over with Ken. He pointed out that it was sort of lame, and maybe I should do it another way. I saw that he was right--it's not like me to struggle with writing a page or two, and so something had to be wrong--and I took his suggestions. The words are flowing much better, so hopefully I'll be getting copies of each of the stories to my readers at the end of the week. And then it's onward to starting a new book.

One of my best girlfriends will possibly be moving out ot L.A. in a few months. I'm bummed. It's a good opportunity for her significant other, but I don't want her to leave. She is freakishly like my husband. Anytime I bitch about something Ken's done or relay Ken's side of an arguement, Bridget will inevitably come in on Ken's side. Sometimes during random situations words will come out of her mouth that I'll swear I've heard Ken say in similar situations. It's freaky. She says I remind her of her boyfriend in the same way, so for me it validates our friendship. I'm going to miss her so much when she leaves. In a perfect world I'd fly out to see her once a year. More likely we'll meet somewhere in the middle ... like Vegas. Yeah, Vegas.

microbiology hell

I've survived my first week of training in urines, and I have to say I'm completely and totally overwhelmed. Half of the department has told me this is completely normal--because of the volume of urines, it'll be weeks until I can totally do the bench myself. I have one more week of training before spending a week by myself, and I'm already anticipating I'll be staying until 1700 every night to get the fucking things finished. Everyone is so helpful--they'll grab a stack of negatives to help finish the work--but somehow that makes me feel even more incompetent. Today I made flow charts to help myself. I have a tendancy to cry when I feel overwhelmed, so I hope I don't cry at work. That would seriously wreck my image.

Friday I recieved a rejection for a story I sent out over a year ago. It's your basic form letter--thank you for sending but we are unable to accept your submission, blah blah blah--but one of the editors took the time to hand write a comment on the bottom: "Several of the editors enjoyed "Cleaning Day." Unfortunately, however, it didn't make the final cut. Best of luck with it." Only in a creative field--writing, acting, design, art--would a rejection with the comment "we liked it" make one happy. I can't shake the feeling I'm close to breaking through ... only a few more years, maybe, until people can buy one of my books at the bookstore. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but most days that's what keeps me going.

strange

The other day my boss asked me what my maiden name was and I had to think about it for a second before answering. That evening, I went home and dug out my microbiology text book from tech school and my maiden name was written in the front. I've not been that person for over seven years, and now it's almost strange to think I ever was that person. My identity is so wrapped up in my marriage now that's it's strange to think of a time I wasn't married, that I wasn't Ken's Wife, that I wasn't one half of a pair. Some women complain about it--like they're always someone's wife, someone's mother, someone's daughter and they're never known just for themselves. I say, if you're known only for yourself, doesn't that mean that you're inherently alone? And aren't their husbands, children, and parents also known by some people as so-and-so's husband, kid, and parent? If you're part of a community, you'll always be known in relation to someone else. I think it's something to embrace.

the aftermath

Christmas with Ken turned out to be pretty sweet. I got lots of clothes and some jewelry, while Ken's best gift was a new winter coat. Santa didn't forget the kitties, of course--they got a bunch of new cat toys that will eventually become lost underneath the couch. One was a catnip mouse that everyone took turns drooling on. After the first twenty minutes the stupid thing was drenched with cat spit. Yech. The upshot was that all the cats were high and funnier than usual.

Haven't heard anything yet about any of the stories I've submitted, nor anything from the publisher or the agent about the book. I actually 'finished' the third book over the weekend. It still needs more work but I'm calling it done until I get feedback from my readers. After the new year I'm starting on my four-wizard book and the second short story for the anthology. Hope to get the short story done in a few weeks so I can get input from my readers about which story they like best before the end of January. Where the fuck does the time go?

back from the quad

Christmas with the in-laws was relatively painless. Everyone was in a good mood--no one was snarky, no one got their feelings hurt, there were no arguements ... it was fairly amazing. Those things generally happen when Ken's family gets together, and so days they don't are remarkable. Maybe that we were only together for about five hours had something to do with it. I got clothes and money, so it's all good. We won't be doing x-mas with my family for anther couple of weeks, so I've got plenty of time to mentally prepare.

A few thoughts popped into my head while I was with my nieces and nephew. One was when I first saw my nephew--he'll be fourteen in February--and I saw how much of a man he's beginning to look like. He was walking around the house barefooted, and a I saw how his feet looked more like man-feet than kid-feet, and the thought that came to me was that someday he'll make love to a woman that loves those feet. They'll lie together in bed in some cramped dorm room and she'll tell him how much she loves how he holds his feet when he's sleeping.
The second thought that came to me actually occured to me a month ago when my niece, nephew, and a friend of my nephew's visited Ken and I, but seeing them today reminded me of it. We were hanging out in the mall when I realized that I was only a few months older than my niece when I lost my virginity to a guy around my nephew's friend's age--I was 16, he was 14--and it made me wonder if any of the teenagers present had done that deed. Maybe. Maybe not. You can bet some of their friends have, and you can bet it's on their minds either way.
Today I got my niece's and nephew's blog addresses, so I'll be checking them out in the next couple of days. It'll give me insight to the mindset of the current youth, which will be helpful for my writing, but also it'll allow me to get to know them as people, which is what I really want.

aarrrgh

I've not been writing much lately and it's starting to wear on me. I can always tell when I haven't been writing because I walking around with a sort of low-grade PMS buzzing around my head. When I'm truly PMS-ing, I hate everyone: "What, you sneezed? You bastard. How dare you sneeze around me." Luckily this only lasts about a day. When I haven't been writing, though, it's more along these lines: "You sneezed? I'll bless you if I must. But you must thank me for doing so." This will last until I write something. This blog entry will probably be enough to last me a few days.

Today I lunched with three of my best girlfriends. We ate food and laughed and talked about people behind their backs. I love being snarky. I can't help it. One could make the arguement that it's hateful and mean-spirited and it makes me a bad person. So be it. I make the arguement that if I wasn't ever snarky, I'd go insane from bottled-up frustration and call someone a worthless bitch to their face. I daresay that would make for an uncomfortable work environment. See? It's better my way.

Going to see the in-laws on Friday. I'll be sure to post a report with all the bloody details. Hopefully I won't be posting from jail.

well ...

I've finished one story for the anthology. I've got a few good ideas for another one, so I'll work on it over the next few weeks. That, coupled with finishing up my third book, should make for a busy week after Christmas. I think I'm going to enter the local newspaper's fiction contest. One of my girlfriends called my attention to it, so I'm gonna give it a shot. I haven't checked out the details, but I think the deadline's late January. We'll see how it goes. Probably won't win, but the more stories you write the better writer you become, so I still come out ahead.

Looking forward to New Year's Eve. We're having a big party complete with food, booze, and poker. What else do you need, really?

Today was the last day of finals for the college, so when Ken and I went X-mas shopping tonight it was actually bearable. We're going to do some shopping on Campus tomorrow, then go to a x-mas party tomorrow night. I'm hoping to go see King Kong or Aeon Flux at some point during the weekend, but we'll see how it goes. We usually talk a big game but then we end up sitting at home on our ass. As long as this ass is writing and not playing xbox, it's all good.

and the verdict is ...

Still Alive! I've officially finished my first four days as a day shifter. This is a basic run-down of my typical day.

2200: go to bed.

0030: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse and go back to sleep.

0230: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse and pee before going back to sleep.

0430: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse. Sleep.

0545: alarm goes off. Grumble, brush teeth, pee, shower, dress.

0630: leave for work. Curse as I scrape off windows. Send mental love to Ken for buying me a car with ass warmers.

0700: clock in. Feel like a rookie student as I try to remember the things I'm supposed to do at the beginning of the shift. Try not to look tired as everyone asks how I'm making the transistion. Resolve to wear make-up tomorrow to look a little more "with it."

0900: break. As an evening shifter, I always made fun of the dayshifters for taking a break and a lunch when all we got was a short lunch. But dammit, when break time rolls around I'm hungry and in need of caffeine. If I have to follow the leader and take a break with my new coworkers to get it, so be it. Besides, one doesn't make friends by bucking the trend during their first week.

1130: lunch. I've just eaten two hours ago and I'm not hungry. However, the state of IL has decreed that lunch must be taken within five hours of the start of the shift. That means I eat. Luckily, I've already made plans to swim in the mornings after the first of the year and go running after work when the weather hits 50 degrees. That means I'll have to sucker someone into biking with me and I'll be set for tri training.

1530: end of shift. See the evening shifters roll in, shoot the shit with them before leaving. I really miss them. They're such a fun group.

1600-1730: This should be my writing time. This has been, however, my xbox time. This will need to change soon, since I need to get that story finished and I'd like to get my book finished by the end of the year so I can get started on another book.

1730-2200: read, watch tv, and hang out with Ken. And then the cycle begins again.

I can't help feeling like I'm in school again, with learning new stuff at work, being tired, and hanging out with Ken of an evening. I feel like I mesh well with the department, and I know I made the right decision, but it's going to take a while before it feels natural.

Ken has decided to switch jobs. Even though it's a longer drive and less pay, it's a good move. He hates his current job, and he's noticebly happier knowing he'll be outta there in a month. Ah, the winds of change.

my last evening

With the exception of one weekend and Christmas, tonight is my last evening shift. I thought I'd post the e-mail I sent to my co-workers along with explainations of some of the in-jokes.

Evenings--
And so it comes. Traditionally, when the treacherous sould who dare leave the paradise known as evenings work their last shift, they send an e-mail thanking everyone for the great food and for being a great bunch of co-workers.

I am not, in general, a traditionalist.

What follows is a list of some of my favorite memories from my 6-1/2 year tenure. Some of you might not understand. Ask the old-timers.

--Snowball fights in the parking lot
--the lab week activity known as Lab Luge [this involves a rolling office chair, a long stretch of corridor, a timer and a co-worker.]
--trips in the dumbwaiter [once we sent a few people downstairs in the dumbwaiter. Strictly speaking, the dumbwaiter is for specimens only. But you can fit a smallish person in it if they aren't claustrophobic]
--fire in the lab! [one weekend, the fire alarm went off. This did not alarm us. What alarmed us was the "greenleaf, lab building, greenleaf, lab building" announcement overhead. We called security to see where the fire was and if we should evacutate. No, no, they told us, it's on the second floor. We spent the next few hours smelling smoke and watching the fire department out of the windows. What kills me is that we had to call. I think they would've let us bake before remembering there are people that work in the lab.]
--discovering how to talk to Dr. C. [he is an asshole heart/vascular surgeon. The only way not to get cursed at and written up when you call him is to be hateful right back at him, as if it's his fault you're calling him with an alert value after nine. Which, strictly speaking, it is.]
--rock-paper-scissors [this is how we used to determine who did the first cell count of the night.]
--iPod/disco night [we cranked the tunes, turned down the lights, and danced for a few hours. Needless to say, it was a slow night.]
--exploding poop [Apparently, this only happens to me.]
--favorable electromagnetic influence over the UF-100 [I'm one of those people that stop watches and kill calculator batteries. My freakish nature makes the urinalysis instrument autoverify samples.]


So that's what I sent out. Hopefully everyone got a few laughs out of it. There are a few things that I didn't include here because they are pretty incriminating. You'll just have to wonder.

this and that

Today I'm sort of in a funk. For one thing, it's fucking freezing outside, and I'm soooo not looking forward to being out in it. For another, it's sort of finally really hitting me that I'll be leaving evenings. Last night a few of my coworkers were getting down to business with their competancies (little quizzes each departments give annually that, if you pass, means you are able to work in that department for the next year). Usually we all work on them together--some would call it cheating, but I call it a collaborative effort--and last night was no exception. Except for me. For one thing, I had already done a few of them, but one I haven't done I won't need to do. That I wasn't comparing answers and helping find answers that no one knew made me realize that I am no longer a part of "us," I'm a part of "them." I know that I'll always be friends with my peeps on evenings ... but it will just be different. I am one of "them." Of course, "they" think I'm now a part of their "us," ... but I will take me a bit to mentally make that shift myself.

In order to cheer myself up, I'm going outline the work I'm doing with my writing:
--still working on finishing my third book before the end of the year.
--sent a packet of first book materials to an editor last week.
--sent a query to an agent last week.
--sent a short story submission a few weeks ago to "Cricket," a young-adult literary magazine.
--working on the short story for the DAW anthology.
--sending a submission (today) to The Hub Weekly, a freebie community paper in the area that will begin to publish weekly fiction stories shortly.
Seeing it all on paper makes me feel like I have a few irons in the fire, even if they're all lukewarm and the fire is only a few hot coals.

Black Friday

While Ken and I may or may not go shopping later, we have another reason to dread today. We're taking three of the four cats to the vet at the same time. It sounded like a good idea when I made the appointment--'oh, Ken's off, so he'll help me, and one trip instead of three is always good'--but, damn. Let me give you a rundown of what the half-hour before the vet visit will entail.

Clean the cat carriers. Do this outside so the cats don't know what's coming.

Warm up the car.

Close all bedroom and basement doors so that there are no escape routes.

Bailey will be under the bed, so run vacuum in the bedroom so she'll shoot out from underneath before she knows what's coming.

Stuff Bailey in one box.

Get clean towel and go after Kahlua, who by this point knows what's coming and wants no part of the nonsense. He's fat, though, so he's easy to catch. However, he's got a defense mechanism.

Wrap towel around Kahlua, making sure to cover both his eyes and his tail end. Hold him away from yourself so that when he pees out of fright (this is the said defense mechanism) it doesn't go on you. If you've done your wrapping job right, it'll go on the towel. Stuff Kahlua into the other box.

Go after Moonshine. She is skittish, but she's only been in the cat carriers once or twice, and she didn't seem to mind the vet the few times she's been, so her curiousity about the rucus might make your job easier. Stuff her into box with Bailey. Bailey might be bitchy, but she's more calm that Kahlua in this situation and Kahlua's fear might transfer to Moonshine if they're in the same box.

Shove Morgan out of the way when you leave. You see that Morgan is quite pleased with himself because he is not a part of this circus side show. Tell him to wipe the smug look off his face or he'll be next. Tell him you'll find a reason to take him to the vet, and then won't he be sorry. Shut the door and wonder if Morgan is on the counters out of spite yet.


This is the basic script for any trip to the vet. Once we get home, Bailey will hiss at all the others--they'll each get their own customized hiss--because she will be convinced it's their fault she has had to suffer such indignities. Kahlua will roll into a ball on the couch and not move until nightfall, while I'm not entirely certain what Moonshine will do. Morgan will prance around and generally make an ass of himself, gloating because he didn't have to go.

Eat More Chicken!

Happy Thanksgiving! Ken and I stayed home today and cooked a little feast. It was good except for the turkey breast--we didn't cook it long enough and so it was still pink in the middle. We picked at it but ultimately threw it out because we were both paranoid about food poisoning. It was good to stay home, though, because we don't have headaches from family stress and we haven't been overfed.
It feels more like Christmas than Thanksgiving in our house because Ken stood in line outside of best buy on Tuesday and scored himself and XBOX360, so we've been playing with the new toy all day. Even I have to admit it's pretty fucking cool. The graphics are awesome, and because we have it hooked up to our projector, the screen is like six feet wide. When I watch or play Call of Duty 2, though, I get motion sick. It's weird. But I'm sorta getting the hang of the racing game, though, so it's okay. I'd like to have a poker game for it, and I'll be buying Ken and game for Christmas, so we'll have a collection in no time.

Called Dad today. Almost told him about the short-story thing, but didn't. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to tell him it didn't work out if it doesn't, or maybe I'm afraid if I tell too many people it won't happen, or ... I don't know. I think it has something more to do with fucked up parental relationships, because I haven't told mom, either. This is all beginning to sound Freudian and so I'm stopping now.
Tomorrow we may actually go out and brave the crowds. There are actually a few gifts I could buy, but mostly I like to watch all the people and feed off their energy. Does that make me some sort of freaky Christmas Vampire?

Even better news (I think)

It turns out that the anthology I'm submitting to is invitation-only. I think that means this: the author is gathering 15-18 submissions, and unless mine is unacceptable in some way, it'll be published. Holy fucking shit! It goes without saying I had an anxiety attack when I read that e-mail. There are a few authors she's invited that are widely published in the genre (Mike Stackpole and Chris Peirson). Their name on the cover will ensure that more people will buy the book and so more people will potentially read my story. Anthologies really aren't big sellers, but who gives a shit? My name will be in print! That is, if I don't fuck this up somehow. People I've told are already clamoring for autographed copies. I say, don't jinx me. I'll believe it actually happened when I have a copy of the book in my hands.

exciting news

Today I got an email that made my heart race and my hands shake.

No, it wasn't porn. Get your mind outta the gutter.

The author I sent my manuscript to invited me to send a story to her for an anthology she's editing. She hasn't read much of my book yet--she's got about a thousand irons in the fire and, let's face it, I'm a guppy in the fiction ocean--but she has read the first four or five chapters. That she's invited me to send in a story tells me that she doesn't think my writing sucks. If I was crap she wouldn't have given me this opportunity, right? The deadline's not until April, so idealy I'd like to write a couple of stories and submit the best one. Just sending it in doesn't mean I'll actually be published. I don't know how many spots she's trying to fill, but I believe she gets hundreds of submissions for her anthologies, so the odds aren't in my favor. I say, experience counts, and if I don't get this anthology I'll get the next one, or the one after that.

I have Friday night off. I feel a celebration coming on.

fun with chemistry

Today I performed a chemistry experiment I like to call "making chocolate-oatmeal no-bake cookies." If I do say so myself, the experiment was a smashing success. To me, cooking is like following a laboratory procedure ... if you can do one, you can do the other. Give me a recipe and I can follow it. Ken, however, follows the "a dash of this and a smidge of that, taste it, add a bit of this" school of cookery. It goes without saying that we don't usually cook together.

Submitting a short story today. A few weeks ago I received a rejection for something I had forgotten I had submitted. I've been working on the third book and a really rough outline for a new book. I'm reading "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult. It's really good--last night I stayed up until 0230 reading and bawling like a baby. If you've ever lived with anyone who's had a serious illness, you'll totally relate. As a writer, it's good to read, too, because each chapter is a different character's POV.

all the dirt from Madison

Thursday--
I woke up at, like, 0430 and couldn't get back to sleep. We left town at around 0915 and two discussions about my driving and one pee break later, made it into Madison at around 1330. Our hotel sucked--it wasn't the convention hotel but one about three blocks away--and apparently hadn't been updated since the 1930's or so. We couldn't control the heat, the smoke alarm would go off when we showered, and the toilet would sometimes keep running. Luckily, we didn't spend too much time there. Once we got food in our tummies we were in a much brighter frame of mind.

We checked into the convention and got our swag bag. I'm here to say the goodies are worth the price of admission (which is a steep $135 apiece). Ken and I each received a bag full of books. Unfortunatley, two of the books we already owned, but fortunately, there was a 'book swap' table were you put duplicates and pick up books you wanted. The dealer's room was basically jewelery and books, and you guys know me and bookstores. I held myself to one book, though.

The panel discussions were good. That first afternoon I met Holly Black, who has published something like seven ya books in the past five years. I immediately wanted to be her friend because she had cool hair and could do that cool liquid-eyeliner-sixties-cat-eyes thing with her makeup. She introduced me to her agent, who invited me to send him a query. Whee-hee! That night we attended a few readings, as well, and decided that readings were a lot of fun. The two authors we saw first changed their voices for each character and read with alot of expression, much like an audiobook. The whole point of the reading is to make people want to buy the book the story is in or the book that is coming out, and these two accomplished that. There are unpublished authors that do readings, as well, so maybe I'll try to get a slot next year. It made me think I should maybe take an acting class or something so I could be more comfortable speaking in front of a crowd and getting into the reading.

Another bonus of WFC: free food and drinks. There's a 'consuite' room with freebie soda, beer, and hot and cold food to eat and drink whenever you want. Also, every evening different groups host parties that are on the same floor of the consuite. Once again, free drinks flow. The first night it was austrailian wines (it was an aussie party), and I had to consciously remind myself I was here to meet people, not to become drunk and stupid on free liquor. That first night Ken and I met two guys from Arkansas--Jon and Jeremy--who had written a few books and were stumping them around. We actually hit if off right away and kept meeting up with them throughout the con.

Friday
I met a children's/ya editor from Viking--she was on a panel and the first words out of her mouth were "I fucking hate morning people," and so I knew she was one chick I had to meet. After speaking with her for a bit she told me to send her my manuscript, and if it wasn't for her, she'd maybe pass it on to someone who could work with it. Apparently this woman is a biggish name in the children's/ya publishing realm because her name kept popping up over the course of the weekend. She said she seemed to like contemporary fantasy more, so I have a feeling she'll reject my book, but maybe she'll like the next one. I could have that one done next summer, maybe.

In the early evening Ken and I played a time-wasting but highly-addictive game with a group of writers from Minneanapolis. They seemed like a group of peeps I could hang with alot. One of them has a PhD in physics, and somehow we got onto the subject of marshmellows in the microwave. Apparently, if you make a grid of minimarshmellows in the microwave and you zap them, you see the microwaves in the pattern of swelling. You can measure it and somehow calculate the speed of light. This chick says this--I think it was Laura--and immediately I feel like a complete dumbass. This is what they do for fun???? Dude, I watch E! and read Instyle for fun. Of course, I kept that information to myself. See, sometimes I can keep my mouth shut.

More parties in the evening. Met up with some people Ken and I had met at Gen Con in July. One is the author that I gave my manuscript to. She was only on page sixty or so, but she said so far she was enjoying it and she would email her comments soon. I found out she has two deadlines before the end of the year and one in February, so it might be awhile. I say, we should all be so lucky.

Saturday
Ken and I join Jon, Jeremy, and the gen conners for breakfast. I'm beginning to feel less like an imposterish hack and more like I belong. I'm already looking forward to next year. We do panels and readings all day, but skip the parties that night. We're not young anymore, after all, and can only drink so many woodchuck ciders and microbrews, even if they are free.

Sunday
Ken and I talk with Marissa Lingen for a bit. I had spoken with her briefly throughout the con, but she had had a bout of food poisoning and wasn't up for much. She was still sick on Sunday, and I felt bad for her. She seemed like a sweetie, though, and if she spent too much time with me I would surely corrupt her. After a few panels and another free book we left.

Basically, the moral is in the beginning I felt like a nervous, incompetant, and talentless hack, and in the end I felt like a semi-competant hack with a smidgen of talent.

Gotta jet. I'm meeting a friend for a belated-birthday lunch, and I have to go make myself beautiful. That could take awhile.

T-four days and counting

We leave for Madison on Thursday. I just don't have any idea at all of what to expect. I hope I meet fun people and make friends and don't make too big of an ass out of myself. I hope I don't get told I'm a horrible writer and I should go home and never come back. I hope I am ballsy enough to pitch my trilogy to a few editors well enough that they ask to see it.

I guess the attitude to go with is, if none of this happens next weekend, it will next year. Or the year after that. Persistance pays off, as they say. And I've been known to be stubborn ...

I am no where near completion of my third book. I haven't worked on it at all in the last few weeks, and I think it's mostly from denial about Madison. You know, an "I can't suck if I don't write" sort of thing. Completely unhealthy, I know. Hopefully I'll be able to get work done on it in the few vacation days I have before Thursday.