it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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being positive's so unhip

This was one of Jenny Casey's theme songs, when I was writing her books.

I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Straight from the bottle, twisted again
I'll sleep when I'm dead

Well, I take this medicine as prescribed
I'll sleep when I'm dead
It don't matter if I get a little tired
I'll sleep when I'm dead

I've got a .38 special up on the shelf
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid
I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead

Well, the taxes are done and filed. Now to just open the vein send the checks. (Self employment tax sucks rocks, children.)

In other news, I think I have a plan. I have Things To Do every day between now and Saturday (they pile up during the writing binges.) Friday afternoon I may try to get my Penguicon prep out of the way, clean the house somewhat and do laundry. You know, the traveling jobs.

Penguicon, my trusty Google Calendar informs me, will eat up the 19th through the 23rd, more or less.

Then, I am off until WisCon. And I am thinking it would be a good thing to start the rewrite of All the Windwracked Stars June 9, after WisCon, as my project for Sycamore Hill. (It will take longer than that, of course: it's a ground-up rewrite. But that seems like a good point to pick up the noveling.)

Which gives me until the first week of June to write some short stories. And I happen to have a list here of stories I should dearly love to write.

Which means my self-enforced post-novel goof off period ends April 24.

Which in turn means I will be holing up for most of May, breathing through a straw, trying to write up a storm, and mostly coming out Wednesday and Thursday nights for the usual social engagements (not counting gym dates and so on).

So, um. After this month, the self-discipline starts again, and I expect I'll be limiting social engagements to one or two a week or so. Or, in other words, nothing personal, but nobody expect to see too much of me until November, except for scheduled con appearances, unless the rewrites on All the Windwracked Stars and Ink & Pen and the drafts/scratching around the edges of Bone & Jewel Creatures and Chill are going really well. Because socializing and writing appear to be mutually exclusive, and alas, one of those pays the bills.*

I'll be back for the holidays, though. *g* And around online, because I am around online.



*People ask me, so, Bear, how do you write 2.5 decent****** books a year consistently?

The answer is: work your motherfucking ass off.

And take breaks.

You gotta take breaks.**

**Genre writing, if you are at all successful, is like working on a TV show, as opposed to working on a movie. Movies are a big push and then you get a lull where you live off whatever you earned. TV shows are eight day weeks until hiatus, and then you go home to your spouse and fall the hell over on the couch for a week.***

***Best. Job. In. The. World. ****

****Writing SFF novels, not working on a TV show.*****

*****People at that end of the entertainment industry may dispute my findings.

******You may quibble their decentness as you see fit, but they keep the cat fed and garner enough attention to fulfill my modest desires.*******

*******The nice thing about being a writer is that you can be nearly famous. Which beats the stuffing out of actually being famous, because almost nobody ever interrupts my supper to take my picture or throws underwear in my car windows at a stop light.

Tags: the glamour!, the writer at work
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