With that said: commence an actual post
I'm taking a class called Wordlab at Wordspace, and it's really helping me get motivated on the novel...aie, the novel that's been floating about in various forms for about six month now, since first conceptualized last November. Starting from scratch was the right thing to do. The punk novella that was supposed to be the first part is cheerily moving on on it's own, a small press (hush hush, won't say who) is interested, I must come up with a revised draft to show the editor. He thought of a title for it, Scaffolding, which I like very much.
The L.A. Novel that I'm working on now, I'm about...maybe three chapters into it. It's, as usually, flagrantly autobiographical. I've gotten so used to spilling my guts by now that it's just like, "typey typey herpes typey typey taking shots of triple sec type bum piss" and etc...It has no title as of yet, and I just changed the main characters name to Ginger.
But Wordlab, it's been great help so far. It motivated me to turn out ten more pages for class tonight, which I'm nervous about presenting, but sort of excited at the same time.
And Featherless. Right now I am waiting to hear back from three amazing writers, and I am so hoping that all three of them will say yes. We are trying to get our booking taken care of farther in advance, thus. Monthly it becomes a rapidly turning wheel, one into another, one stops and the next begins.
I turn 34 in ten days. My, I'm getting old. I still have no job. I have been floating along this summer on a miasma of SSDI payments, food stamps, careful budgeting and the odd sold book here and there. I am thinking of trying the ticket to work program once Katie and I are married and the chaos of wedding planning and dual book revisions/writing/Featherless has died down a bit.