Still feeling crappy, and I actually went to work today, because I need the fucking money. STUPID MONEY, what good are you anyway, other than keeping me from falling behind on my car/insurance payments? NOTHING. NOTHING, I SAY!!!
So today I was fantisizing about being a full-time novelist, like Terry Pratchett. I think I could really get behind that. Being put on a deadline to write a billion words or so, then sending it off to some crazy "editor" to try and make heads or tails of it. AND THEN SOMEONE GIVES ME EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS!!! Sounds good to me.
It would sure beat the hell out of Alamo Door, anyway.
Maybe this year I'll try my hand at writing at least one 10,000 word short story a month, and at least one other novel, between now and next NaNoWriMo. My ultimate dream would be to hit upon some super sweet world for a series that I could just write about over and over again and never have to come up with anything new (like Discworld, only crappier! There's not a theme here, or anything). And while I love Joey and his llamas, I don't think that's it. I don't think that even merited the three books I gave it, BUT WHATEVER, "ME". IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.
I'm going away now.