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Anything-can-happen Day
Oh, let’s see. . .the day-job. The less said on that head, I think, the better. On to pleasanter things, like –
The arrival of a royalty check! Yes! Royalty check! Not, I’m sorry to say, for Duianfey, nor for Longeye, neither of which has earned out — but Fledgling has.
Honestly, that kid. . .
What else? Did the dishes, took out the trash, opened up George’s file, meaning to write “a page” — that’s about 250 words, for those who count.
Wound up with a little more than five pages, finishing up a scene and a chapter. Not too bad on the day.
Tomorrow, alas, it’s back to the day-job and the damned data entry. A colleague suggested that I take a picture of the fruits of my labors, to include in my self-evaluation at merit report time. I can take the picture, but I’m pretty sure that no one who is actually in a position to do something about merit raises is going to understand what the picture means in terms of pure, physical labor.
. . .I once — no, I’m wrong — I twice left jobs where the ex-boss had to hire two women to replace me.
You take your black humor where you find it.
Progress on The Book Presently Known as George:
3,528 words/100,000 OR 3.53% complete
Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.
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I know, right?
My problem is, having been doing the secretarial gig off and on for 40ish years, is that I make it look easy (Kids! Don't try this at home!). I wish I had the knack of letting the work pile up, messily undone, around me, and always looking harried and rushed. Instead, I dig in and do it. Unfortunately, the response to this is not, "Hey, you're all caught up! That's great!", it's "Rolanni never has any work to do."
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