I am so old that when I was a small child, Mr. Snuffleupagus was still imaginary. And this series of vignettes impressed me so much that I remember it clearly to this day, though this is the first time I've seen it since it aired. Obviously, this had a deep impact on my seven-year-old brain:
Alas! My beloved electric kettle, which ladegard gave me in 1995 or thereabouts, is on its last legs. It has begun dribbling around the spout. Which means that today, I am shopping for a new tea kettle, because tea kettles are a moral imperative.
And I have to ask myself: proper electric kettle, or a stovetop kettle? The former is more energy efficient, but also generally more expensive, and only works when there's electricity. And the New Place might have a gas stove (I kind of hope it will, actually) which makes a stovetop kettle a much more attractive proposition.
Seriously. I sold my first novel when I was 33. I wrote my first novel when I was umnine. This stuff ain't easy. It is in fact so hard you can't ever do it all right.
The odds against success as a professional writer are about the same as the odds of success in acting, sports, or any other entertainment industry. You either have to be crazy gifted, crazy lucky, or a crazy hard worker to get anywhere at all, and it helps to be all three. At any given time, maybe a couple of hundred people world wide will be at the top of the profession.
The good news is, we don't have to be perfect. Like artists everywhere, we exist by successive approximations of fail better.
And there's a bit more room to make a living, even if it's sometimes kind of a marginal one, in the farm teams.
Climbing, still the best antidote for aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaangst.
I had a really good night tonight. I sent my overhung project wall, a completely clean climb, and I also got a brand new 5.7 that's overhung the whole way, though I dogged on the rope some. I also got more than half of a 5.7 on the 45-foot wall, and Monday I will collect that bastard.
I felt really strong, too, and like I knew what I was doing on all of them. My strength and technique are improving. Slowly, I am getting there.
Then I went and worked on the tricky unrated green wall for a while, the one with the guaranteed barn door. I got past the barn door--basically, I thrashed like a thrashy thing until I was past it--and then was so pumped that I just rainbowed up to the top, because my forearms would no longer hold my weight.
And now I am eating lamb and couscous and orange juice resting the rest of the just.