It's been almost two months since I wrote in this thing. Impossible. I'm slacking.
The office was painted last weekend. New blinds were put in and it almost feels homey. No, it doesn't. The paint is off-white, the blinds are more off, and the place really stinks. But I don't care because I'm walking on sunshine ... whoa-oh. We only have to sell a few hundred more books and we will have crossed the line where publishers pay attention. Of course we aren't selling out to them even though they "have a bigger machine to promote our books with and they can put them in every bookstore in America." Um, what's a bookstore?
The company got some big woo-hoo contracts so we're actually having to work. Not a problem. Advertising is one of the easiest things to write. I did an ad script last night while talking on the phone and eating a bagel sandwich. I'll be picking lettuce, garlic bits, and poppy seeds out of my computer keyboard for weeks. Some people aren't as talented. It's funny watching Sheryl write. She takes all day. She first writes it longhand crossing big things out with angry strokes of her pen and tearing pages off violently. She then enters it on the computer and reworks it a couple dozen times. She swears. Turns off the computer. Looks at her watch fretfully. Goes to get more coffee. Gets a scone. Mows that down and then goes at it again. Eventually she gets it, saves it, prints it and reads it. She sighs and starts with the pen again. Kate comes to get it from her and she says it's not right yet. Kate says just print what you got. She does and Kate sends it upstairs. It doesn't help that I'm always giggling at her.
The paint fumes are getting to me. I'm going to the park ... um, I mean supply office. Toodles.