The Alice '65 is input. 304 pages, 65,750 words. I'm going over it, tomorrow, with spell check and grammar check, which will take time due to the way I write, but that's it. I now need the feedback. I'll send it out on Monday and hope it's not too big a disaster.
I say that because whenever I feel good about something I've written, the feedback slaps me around, hard. It's a necessary process, but I'd rather it come across as good instead of needing more work. We'll see how it goes. For all I know, it won't make a damn bit of sense to anyone but me.
Truth is, the fates like to beat up on me whenever I start feeling good about anything -- like my finances or my car or my health. The second I let anything positive creep into my attitude, life smacks me down. My car's now making noises that can't be good. My youngest brother in San Antonio is back to needing money so he won't wind up homeless. Perfect timing, that, considering Hurricane Harvey. And I got a bill from the doctor's office for $130 that doesn't make sense, but I can't talk to them about it till Monday.
I guess I should just accept that I'll be screwed over till I die, since that's how a lot of my life has been...much of it thanks to my own actions. Actions that seemed right at the time but were actually pretty damned stupid, in retrospect.
Good example -- going into film. I was an artist in San Antonio. I sold some of my work. Did commissions. Free-lanced and did okay. But then I decided I wanted to be Alfred Hitchcock and shifted to a career that I was not suited for. And then when things went my way, despite me, in order for me to do better in film, I either didn't see them till it was too late or got contrary and refused them.
Perfect example, my parents lived in Glendale when I graduated from Trinity University. I could have come to LA and started working in film and stayed with them till I was on my feet, but no. I kept working at a bookstore and decided to go to graduate school. Why? It did nothing but postpone my life. It was stupid.
Then I got accepted to NYU and threw a hissy fit because they wanted me to do the full 3 year graduate course instead of letting start in second year. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
So here I am writing books and now nervous as hell I've screwed that up, too. I've got one review on Amazon for OT, and that's of no use to me. Nothing else. And I've been both blistered and praised for some of my other work. So I dunno...
Maybe I'm still dumb.
I say that because whenever I feel good about something I've written, the feedback slaps me around, hard. It's a necessary process, but I'd rather it come across as good instead of needing more work. We'll see how it goes. For all I know, it won't make a damn bit of sense to anyone but me.
Truth is, the fates like to beat up on me whenever I start feeling good about anything -- like my finances or my car or my health. The second I let anything positive creep into my attitude, life smacks me down. My car's now making noises that can't be good. My youngest brother in San Antonio is back to needing money so he won't wind up homeless. Perfect timing, that, considering Hurricane Harvey. And I got a bill from the doctor's office for $130 that doesn't make sense, but I can't talk to them about it till Monday.
I guess I should just accept that I'll be screwed over till I die, since that's how a lot of my life has been...much of it thanks to my own actions. Actions that seemed right at the time but were actually pretty damned stupid, in retrospect.
Good example -- going into film. I was an artist in San Antonio. I sold some of my work. Did commissions. Free-lanced and did okay. But then I decided I wanted to be Alfred Hitchcock and shifted to a career that I was not suited for. And then when things went my way, despite me, in order for me to do better in film, I either didn't see them till it was too late or got contrary and refused them.
Perfect example, my parents lived in Glendale when I graduated from Trinity University. I could have come to LA and started working in film and stayed with them till I was on my feet, but no. I kept working at a bookstore and decided to go to graduate school. Why? It did nothing but postpone my life. It was stupid.
Then I got accepted to NYU and threw a hissy fit because they wanted me to do the full 3 year graduate course instead of letting start in second year. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
So here I am writing books and now nervous as hell I've screwed that up, too. I've got one review on Amazon for OT, and that's of no use to me. Nothing else. And I've been both blistered and praised for some of my other work. So I dunno...
Maybe I'm still dumb.
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