It seems the moment I do, something happens to screw them up. I haven't worked on A65 all week...well, since Monday. I don't know why. I just haven't. Can't get the enthusiasm going that I had...or need. Can't get the interest.
Don't read, either. Or sketch. Anything. I just wander through facebook and twitter and the news and Tumbler and achieve nothing. And now I'm whining about it. In a low-key way, granted, but still...
God, I don't understand me. It's like somewhere deep down inside me I don't want to succeed and I throw up roadblocks and shift moods to make sure of that. And that's what I'm doing, right now. Told myself as soon as I got home I was going to dive into my rewrite...and it's now 5 hours later and not one red mark added to the printout.
A65 needs work, but it's a fun story. It's fairly mainstream -- nerdy straight boy is used by hurt straight girl but in the end, it all works out and they have an HEA. I like the idea of it. I like the characters. I've even tweeted about it. But now I'm having to fight myself to work on it.
Hell, I'm having to fight myself to write this stupid little post. It's pathetic. And now I'm coming up on a busy couple of weeks of travel -- Boca Raton, next week, and friggin' Oklahoma City the following. Both set up in ways I did not want -- hopping a 5:30 am flight to Boca so I can start working the second I get there because the powers that be did not want to pay for an extra hotel night, and packing OKC within time constraints that are just ludicrous, even with 3 assistants.
I have another job I'm working up a quote on where the owner of the library thinks you can pack 2000 books in a day or two. Yeah, if I bring in 10 helpers. Oh, but can't we do it for $1.98, total? Two jobs we bid on dumped us because they wanted something cheaper...and one was for 7 books that were valued at $150,000. It would have cost $1200 to do pick them up, pack them and ship them, total...not even 1% of their value...and that's too much. Stupid.
Bitch, whine, and complain. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I just need a break. Two weeks of nothing but watching movies, reading books in bed, eating crap and drinking wine. Slob city.
I could deal with that.
Don't read, either. Or sketch. Anything. I just wander through facebook and twitter and the news and Tumbler and achieve nothing. And now I'm whining about it. In a low-key way, granted, but still...
God, I don't understand me. It's like somewhere deep down inside me I don't want to succeed and I throw up roadblocks and shift moods to make sure of that. And that's what I'm doing, right now. Told myself as soon as I got home I was going to dive into my rewrite...and it's now 5 hours later and not one red mark added to the printout.
A65 needs work, but it's a fun story. It's fairly mainstream -- nerdy straight boy is used by hurt straight girl but in the end, it all works out and they have an HEA. I like the idea of it. I like the characters. I've even tweeted about it. But now I'm having to fight myself to work on it.
Hell, I'm having to fight myself to write this stupid little post. It's pathetic. And now I'm coming up on a busy couple of weeks of travel -- Boca Raton, next week, and friggin' Oklahoma City the following. Both set up in ways I did not want -- hopping a 5:30 am flight to Boca so I can start working the second I get there because the powers that be did not want to pay for an extra hotel night, and packing OKC within time constraints that are just ludicrous, even with 3 assistants.
I have another job I'm working up a quote on where the owner of the library thinks you can pack 2000 books in a day or two. Yeah, if I bring in 10 helpers. Oh, but can't we do it for $1.98, total? Two jobs we bid on dumped us because they wanted something cheaper...and one was for 7 books that were valued at $150,000. It would have cost $1200 to do pick them up, pack them and ship them, total...not even 1% of their value...and that's too much. Stupid.
Bitch, whine, and complain. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I just need a break. Two weeks of nothing but watching movies, reading books in bed, eating crap and drinking wine. Slob city.
I could deal with that.
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