In the middle of my panic, my agent sent me an email that she loves the sample I sent of the new book, and wants the full proposal and another essay in the next two weeks to get out to editors before publishing shuts down for thanksgiving.
Ever so cool I say "sure."
Ever so reality, I threw up. I'm going to do it and get it done and be fine, but I can't convince my stomach that it's fine and we do this and there's no reason to let my brain tell me I'm worthless and talentless and it's all an elaborate practical joke. My brain is not allowed to be an asshole this time. I'm just not having it. Fuck you, brain. We have a book to get out into the world.
Allyson, that's great news. Allyson's brain, buck up!
We have a book to get out into the world.
That's excellent news, Allyson! Congratulations.
Staying up wasn't a good plan for me either. Grace is out of surgery and we are in her roo for the next day. Ordered food for her and then we can relax.
Congrats Allyson! That's great news!
Hey, Allyson's brain? Um, How to say this? Shut up! Only the parts involved in creative writing are allowed to speak, preferably in writing.
(Oh, Allyson! I'm so glad I was still online on time to read your good news!)
look at Nilly being all sassy! which is to say NILLY!!!!! miss you, love you, no offenses have occurred.
Allyson's stomach, shut up!
So, did everyone remember to wear pink today? I totally did. Pink blouse with a bow at the neck and everything.
Hey, people with breasts--do you ever use the patch pockets over them on your shirts/blouses? What's up with that?
Ugh. I'm having email avoidance. Got to get over it.
I do use those pockets. It never works out well, but I am often desperate for pockets.
I don't even buy things with those pockets. I hates them.