No matter how much you love your job, there are days that you just don’t feel like doing it.
I love to write, and I would like to think I’m good at it. I am in the enviable position of actually getting paid to write, and it makes me wonder what the sweaty hell I’m complaining about.
As I have mentioned a bazillion times, my world is very strange.
My husband’s son was born yesterday.
That is quite possibly the oddest statement I have ever made (That’s really something because I have written about time weasels, head gnomes and knitting sportswear for Fabricated Americans.)
I’m still trying to make sense of the situation without turning into an ass. ( World’s Worst Jersey Shore Spin-Off.) The reality is that I have obligations that must be met. One of those obligations is to have five Romance short stories finished in 11 days. I know I can do it, I’m just not feeling like waxing romantic and being hopeful today.
I am writing the exposition portion right now and I meant to write “as she” but I typed “Ass He.”
I wonder if my fingers just Freudian slipped