#1
Oh yes, the book is coming along. It's percolating back there in my brain, and when it's ready, it's going to explode on to the page like rage, like passion, like perfection. It's going to sit on that Borders' book shelf all pretty right between "Rowling" and "Tolkein", and soon there will be fanfic sites popping up online, unlikely pairings of my hapless characters in black leather slashes. Yeah, I'm going to find that perfect moment of inspiration, and all of that work I've done so far, all the thinking and charting and character sketches will pay off. It's going to happen any second. I'm going to write this book.
#2
I'm going to be brave enough to walk away from this job sometime soon. I'm going to see an opportunity and snatch it. I'm going to find another source of health insurance and not face another day of taunting teens and rude parents. I'm going to go on vacation in September and eat lunch out on a school day; I'm going to oversleep in the morning and not panic. I'm going to have the courage to make that change, and it won't matter that there are times I really love it. I won't miss it. I won't. I'm leaving any second now. Soon.
Kristin nails it, both times.
edit: one spelling correction, in the first one: percOlating.
Thanks, Deb. Corrected. I knew it was wrong when I typed it, but I didn't have the energy to look up the correct spelling.
I think everyone has at least a few words that are just wrong-looking, no matter how it's spelled.
My biggie? Carricature - no, wait, cariccature - um, caricatture - oh, screw it.
Ack! This just came to me. It's my very first drabble evah.
He'd have ended up there anyway—bloated and bumping lifeless against the pile under the pier. If she, panting and hours away from having their fourth child, hadn't said over the phone to him, "Get here soon but don't bother if you're going to get here drunk. Don't bother coming home at all." He would have still died of the drink. In a bed at home or at the VA. In his usual booth at the bar. In his car, taking some poor soul with him. If she had relented one more time. Forgiven him one more time. It wouldn't have mattered.
"Rowling" and "Tolkein"
Who?
Nice, the way the pace of the piece has the words and the emotions just spilling out, tumbling over one another. The sense of urgency and panic and resignation all wrapping in one.
Wow, this was hard to type (accurately). I'm fried by the stress everyone else here at work is infecting me with. I need alcohol and probably pizza.
Jeepers, lisah. That's intense.
I just did a nice 40-minute over the phone talk with the Shrewsbury Library. I think she said there were about ten people there, and they asked good intelligent questions, and we had a ball. It's possible (ya think?) that I talked too much, but luckily, I'm a very entertaining talker.
It seems someone else is publishing a book on our fandom and stuff.
I'm crushed.
