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The interview went OK, and I'm hoping to hear news of my employability by the end of the week. Serendipitously, SRM Publisher needed to reprint several of its chapbooks, which meant that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kinzel and I drove down together in the bright blue, non-rainy morning to the Big City of Augusta. He dropped me at One Marketplace, and proceeded in an uphill direction to the print shop. About forty-five minutes later, we rendezvoused at a sidewalk table outside of Java Joe's and discussed plans for the rest of the day. Originally, the Plan had been to head back toward the Cat Farm, stopping to vote (Maine primaries today), and to drop off a buncha vinyl at Re-books. I suggested a slight detour to the Barnes and Noble, since we were in the city and all like that (hoping to find Blood and Iron early on the shelves), but kinzel had a counter-proposal.
"Let's go to the ocean."
This was clearly a Grasshopper Plan; totally irresponsible, and worthy only of dismissal.
So, we went to the ocean.
We hit the beach just a few minutes after High Noon. It was marvelously clear, breezy, and quite wonderfully wonderful. I had at the last minute convinced myself that my sandals were Perfectly Adequate to the interview. This decision was now seen to be prescient; and my toes were very happy in the sand.
Onward then to Camp Ellis, where we shared a grocery store sandwich on the public pier, then regretfully headed for home, stopping to vote on the way. The delivery of the vinyl will have to wait until tomorrow and here's hoping it doesn't rain.
At home, I found an email from a prospective employer letting me know that they had filled the position, thankyouforapplyingresumekeptonfileforninetydaysetceteraetcera; and another from Madame the Agent, a quazillion pieces of spam, and a kitten in need of a bath.
My notes for Carousel Tides are as complete as I can make them -- and as explicit. The notes that I make to myself while writing tend to be cryptic in the extreme ("Letter/leaf?" "Hokey Pokey" "What happened to Henry?"), and I wanted to minimize the time I spend scratching my head and wondering what on earth the person who writes my books precisely meant to convey with "ch 8 heeterskyte!" I need to straighten away the book-writing mess, so that it doesn't get mixed in with the revision mess, which would doubtless produce an Interesting Book, except I don't really think that Jen and Kate would hit it off...
kinzel and I drove down together in the bright blue, non-rainy morning to the Big City of Augusta. He dropped me at One Marketplace, and proceeded in an uphill direction to the print shop. About forty-five minutes later, we rendezvoused at a sidewalk table outside of Java Joe's and discussed plans for the rest of the day. Originally, the Plan had been to head back toward the Cat Farm, stopping to vote (Maine primaries today), and to drop off a buncha vinyl at Re-books. I suggested a slight detour to the Barnes and Noble, since we were in the city and all like that (hoping to find Blood and Iron early on the shelves), but kinzel had a counter-proposal."Let's go to the ocean."
This was clearly a Grasshopper Plan; totally irresponsible, and worthy only of dismissal.
So, we went to the ocean.
We hit the beach just a few minutes after High Noon. It was marvelously clear, breezy, and quite wonderfully wonderful. I had at the last minute convinced myself that my sandals were Perfectly Adequate to the interview. This decision was now seen to be prescient; and my toes were very happy in the sand.
Onward then to Camp Ellis, where we shared a grocery store sandwich on the public pier, then regretfully headed for home, stopping to vote on the way. The delivery of the vinyl will have to wait until tomorrow and here's hoping it doesn't rain.
At home, I found an email from a prospective employer letting me know that they had filled the position, thankyouforapplyingresumekeptonfileforninetydaysetceteraetcera; and another from Madame the Agent, a quazillion pieces of spam, and a kitten in need of a bath.
My notes for Carousel Tides are as complete as I can make them -- and as explicit. The notes that I make to myself while writing tend to be cryptic in the extreme ("Letter/leaf?" "Hokey Pokey" "What happened to Henry?"), and I wanted to minimize the time I spend scratching my head and wondering what on earth the person who writes my books precisely meant to convey with "ch 8 heeterskyte!" I need to straighten away the book-writing mess, so that it doesn't get mixed in with the revision mess, which would doubtless produce an Interesting Book, except I don't really think that Jen and Kate would hit it off...
