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

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Stream-of-Consciousness Pie.

...and nolove on the rewrite for Ideomancer. Alas. At least it was quick.

This is the thing I hate about selling something. Or worse, more than one something in quick succession. I start to think that maybe I'm on a roll, and the next few won't be rejections either. Nothing more destructive to my writerly Zen and my samurai sense of acceptance of death than hope.

But three rejects in a row have pretty much taken the edge off that, and I'm back to cheerful fatalism now. Alles gut.

And I sent two stories out yesterday, including one that had been trunked for five months while I figured out how to fix it--because I maybe fixed it. And I tried a new market for the first time--Brutarian--so we'll see how it goes.

I'm getting in touch with my Yankee roots by having pie for breakfast; it's Key Lime pie, admittedly, and not something healthy like apple or strawberry-rhubarb (healthy pie, you ask? Well, yes, of course--it has fruit in it! Pumpkin is also an acceptable breakfast pie. And you'd better not be eating cheese Danish or a chocolate croissant (Las Vegas also does not have a single place to get a decent bagel or pain au chocolat) while you're making that face, is all I can say.) but it is pie.

I got ten hours of sleep last night, which is unheard of. It was actually a bit too much--I woke up at 5:30 refreshed and went back to sleep because of the level of sleepytrons being generated by the boy, the four cats, and the gently snoring mastiff in the bedroom. (The Dane slept in the rec room, for some reason. She's not into this communical sleep time the rest of us enjoy) I wonder if I'm coming down with something, or if that is just an oversleeping headache.

More tea! It's the cure for everything.

And we might get to see The Triplets of Belleville on Monday. It's at Las Vegas' only art theatre. That's right, nearly two million people in the metro area.

One art theatre.

And there's never any problem getting in.

And people wonder why I mock this town.

And now, we recommence our paper edit. Page 842 on the printout, act IV, Scene xii. Hannah said there was some skimmable stuff hereabouts. I'll have to see if I can find it and ferret it out.

For those of you who play the Shakeseparean game, the death toll so far is eight killed, one exiled, unless I'm forgetting somebody.

That's not counting Kit, by the way. He's dead before the book starts, after all.

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