The title of the post says it all. I’m much better. I’ll do your promo and challenge vignettes tomorrow.
Right now, I’m trying to do three overdue short stories, and … well…. catch up on everything I didn’t do yesterday.
Not completely well, yet, and feel like sleeping rather a lot, but that’s acceptable. So, I’m going to try to do the shorts and hope I can get through them.
Probably not, to be honest. Probably going to finish them by mid week. Which is annoying because that’s also, probably, when I’ll be sending Other Rhodes to the betas, which I meant to have done…. oh, on the 1st. I feel like this year is already at least six months long.
Well, this too shall pass, and as RES didn’t put it but implied, it was my own stupid fault for thinking stomach flu was a good decision. 😉
I still have no clue what to do about Euclid. We’re well into the land of mixed signals. Yesterday, for the first time in several days, he asked for second dinner (and got it.) Today, he’s just sleeping, and had maybe a mouthful of food. Sigh. I don’t know what to do. Other than love him, pet him, and keep waiting for a clear signal one way or another.
Ah well. I scheduled a ridiculous number of books for this year, and if at least half of them get done, I’ll be okay. And short story invites — warning to everyone out there who might ask me — from now on get accepted (if at all. Unless you’re Hank or Correia or Ringo or someone else who pays on delivery) on a conditional basis. As in “Your theme sounds interesting. Tell me the due date, and I’ll try” because last year, through a confluence of being sick/the family needing me/and having accepted more invites than are good for me and not wanting to disappoint anyone, I ended up blocking myself from novels, and not doing anything for months (because I didn’t have ideas for the shorts, but they were due) then spending two weeks frantically writing short stories. Let’s admit this is not good for anyone, myself or the editors. So, in the future the policy is “Tentatively interested. Perhaps.” UNLESS of course, you pay up front, or I’ve worked with you in the past, and the story really INTERESTS me. For instance, this anthology has…. uh…. blinks…. paid more than I expected. (And it’s on sale for 99c, so this is a good time to get it.)
Actually that’s how I got myself into that particular fine mess, because though 6 months delayed, the “no pay upfront” anthos are paying as much (or often more) as the traditional short story market. On the other hand, as my husband reminded me this weekend (the poor man is not only the voice of reason, he’s also often my conscience AND my um “artistic guidance” [Uncomfortable with this term, because I’m not sure I’m an artist so much as a craftswoman, even if what I work with is words and pictures] It’s a lot of jobs) I am indie.
Or, as he put it, after 20 years in the Egypt of traditional publishing, often being required to make bricks without straw (and a few times with no clay) and whenever they were due, I’m now free. Now whether I’m free to starve in the desert remains to be seen, but at least I shouldn’t have to produce something arbitrarily on a theme that’s not in mind at the moment just because it’s impacting someone else, and I promised.
He has a point, which is why — though not refusing to write more short stories, because eh, they’re good promo and also they pay twice, as eventually I assemble a collection of that year’s shorts — I need to be more selective in accepting invites.
I see this is has turned into a state of the writer post.
The state of the writer is still mildly urky, but mostly exhausted, with a chance of some writing, though so far not a ton, and great annoyance at having to manage herself.
You know how it goes, working for yourself is great, but the boss is a b*tch/bastage. Eh.
Sometime this week I’ll bring out paper of Deep Pink, and then there will be a contest for signed paper copies. Might do some other books, too.
For now, though, I think I need a nap.