It’s been well over a week since my last entry. Life tends to take up one’s time without care to prior obligations. So it goes.
As far as my novel goes, I finished chapter fifteen and have yet to start sixteen. I would give a proper word count, but I’m on the wrong computer currently. I’m heading into the final third of the novel and am looking forward to finishing it. Then I’ll have the fun task of revising. That’s what makes a writer a writer, the masochistic need to go back in and rewrite what you just bled through your own fingertips. It’s a sickness that benefits the masses.
On another note, I am starting the new position at work, but since they have yet to find a replacement for my last position, I’m still doing both. They gave me raise (for which I am grateful), but when I mentioned that since I’m doing BOTH jobs, shouldn’t I be paid as doing both jobs? I took their stony silence as a no. You never know till you ask, right?
I’m in dire need of spare time and a winning lottery ticket. Can anyone help with that? Everyday I hate this balancing act I commit myself to. I work to support my family. I want nothing more to support them on a successful line of books. The reality of that is more difficult than I really care to admit. The problem is that I’m rather good at the mundane work I do to bring home money. They offer me more money (which I need) to do more work that I have no desire in doing. Now I need to further alter my time to accommodate this promotion. Less time with my family, less time for school, less time to sleep, less time to have any fun… LESS TIME TO WRITE. All for the Almighty Dollar. But again, like a sickness, I want more and more of it.
I feel like Veruca Salt. I want it all, and I want it now. I’m tired of waiting. You can’t see, but I’m stomping the ground and shaking my fists in the air.
Now that I got that out of my system, I think it’s time for me to make dinner. Tomorrow, bring on the mundane.