Two Lost Souls Living In A Fish Bowl
I’ve had Wish You Were Here in my head for forty-eight solid hours now, sharing time with Herman’s Hermit’s Into Something Good. This is an uneasy pairing at best. I’ve never listened to much Pink Floyd–I mean, no more than anyone who lives in the Pac NW can avoid them, since they’re all over the radio at certain times, usually in the dead gray of winter. Don’t get me wrong–I love the Floyd. Well, most of the Floyd. I could do without any of the Pigs. ANYWAY, the earworms are gnumbling and gnawing.
I am biting the bullet and revising Weasel Boy, since evidently I’m going to get no peace until that’s off at the beta reader’s. It’s a nice little story but not what I want to be working on right now. I am itching to work on something deeper–not because one story is intrinsically better but because one of them is “finished” and the other is in that painfully-ripe-about-to-burst stage that heralds a period of creative immersion.
But, true to form, I spent the morning putting together a Sekhmet sa’es T-shirt (in V-neck, scoop neck, plus sizes too!) and a T-shirt saying “Writers slip a hand up the skirt of grammar and gently tickle conventions”. (V-neck, scoop neck, plus size!) It was awesome and I avoided doing any real work. DOUBLE SCORE!
I have some other ideas for tees, since CafePress finally got dark V-necks in. This looks like the beginning of a beeee-yooo-tiful timesuck. Heh.
All right. Weasel Boy revisions, stat! Get that story up on the table! Chop it up! Suck the fat out! Make its nose prettier and for God’s sake do something about those legs!
Fiction surgery. It’s not just for critics anymore. Heh.
Happy Monday, all!
