The Hitcher and Rutger Hauer

"Where do you come from, John?"

"Disneyland."

dying

Insent. I wish I could run some of this past Marlene, but she's in Naples, Florida, without power or phones.

Deb, long and probably rambling response backflung.

Ugh. I just wrote most of a chapter, and realized it's so slowly paced it's boring even to me.

So much for an afternoon of work. I seem not to be in a "creating sexual mood" at all.

So much for an afternoon of work

I'm pounding away at a few tweaks to Cruel Sister. Jenn and I agreed I can just send it straight on to Ruth, which gives me time, but I want it done and gone and off my desk and on its way.

It's due November 1, right?

Me, too, actually. I wish I was at the "just tweaking" stage instead of pulling this novella out of my ass whole. One day I will get to the bottom of my deadline psychosis.

Nope - due 15 November.

Fucking Farrowen will not let me use both hands to type. Bad time for that.

Yeah, you're way ahead of schedule.

Damn you, I say with affection.

Getting it off your desk will free up time for London Calling, though, I agree, and you know I'm all for that.

What I want - seriously - is a few days of zero stress.

Well, that, and for Lyssa to buy the Kinkaid Chronicles and fall at their feet and adore them.

I want my agent to be wrong about a few things, damn it. And that is NOT the way it should be.

Need to pack and finish laundry and go mail a quarterly health insurance cheque ($1604.70, OUCH).

What I want - seriously - is a few days of zero stress.

Those days happen all too rarely in my world. And a big-ass OUCH to the health insurance check, indeed.

This is seriously infuriating.

I wanted to work on London Calling today. Instead, two hours behind on packing and errands, no shower yet, forget the hair colour and the manicure I wanted to get done for the trip, need to come back and do more on Cruel Sister instead....

GAH.