I've taken on a new project this week, something new and different for me that I haven't done since I edited a manuscript on the life of a salmon for a class in college. It's non-fiction, medical/science based, and will be in the APA style, which is the style with which I am least familiar. Fortunately it is a small book, about 100 pages, and the topic is one I find interesting, and the woman who wrote it is very sweet--we've spoken by phone--and I'm happy to put this together for her.
It's nice to have income always coming in just over the horizon.
I'm still getting the $200- monthly payments from the first book; it doesn't come with any regularity, it just shows up...whenever. *rolleyes*
The book I finished in December I haven't been paid for. Every day, I slog out to the mail box, hoping for a check, and every day it isn't there. I quit going every day, now I go every other day or every third day. It's too depressing. It wouldn't be so bad if my husband weren't riding my ass because he's covering all the bills (like *I* never did that for him. *snort*), and I have no money of my own to pay my bills or go or do anything that I'd like, within reason. It's depressing. I hope to eventually have enough work that money will constantly be coming in from finished projects, but I'm not there yet. We had a phone conference this morning and there is work coming, a lot of work, any day, I hope I can wait it out. It's not like there are any *real* jobs here (I mean that pay more than $25K a year). Most of the upper management/professional positions seem to be people who transferred here with their company from another state. Considering that this state does not value education and the rate of high school drop outs is high, I'm not surprised by large organizations' hesitation to hire professionals who are locals.
Well, time to go wait for the mail man some more. *sigh*
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Carving Out a Life
I always thought that to accomplish something, to learn or make a living, that it should be hard and painful and I should hate it. When I graduated from high school, I wanted to do the whole take a year off and backpack through Europe thing--even though I didn't have a clue how to do that--but my parents insisted that I go to community college so I could stay on the health insurance. I really wasn't sure what that was all about, but assumed it had something to do with the braces I still had on my teeth. (I was 17 when I graduated).
My father took us on a road trip--I don't remember where we were going or who was with us except he and my step-mother--but it was the summer before college and I was going through the catalog and class schedule for my first year at community college as I rode along in the back of the van. And I remember trying to make sure that I had classes every day of the week, because I didn't want my dad to think I was slacking, even though that's what I really wanted to do.
I didn't have a car, hell I didn't have a driver's license until I was twenty, so I would be taking the bus to college--two buses in fact. I also got a job at the May Co, which was a high end department store before they went bust a few years ago. Think of a sort of Macy's West. I worked there four years.
At any rate, by the end of October, I'd had it with school. I was bored, tired, angry, frustrated, and rebelling like a mutherfucker, so I just quit going. My step-brother, who had moved back home at twenty-six so he could finish college, asked me one day if I was taking the day off or if I was done with school. I told him I was done, never thinking that he'd report this directly to my parents. It wasn't a good time.
But all my life, I've taken jobs because I thought I was supposed to, that my dreams were foolish, and work should be shitty, aggravating, and hard. And I also never felt really qualified to do anything other than be a busy little bee in the hive.
And then college. First, I graduated from communicty college. I worked full time most of the way through, and it took me four years, but I got that AA, something I had long considered unattainable. That I was not good enough and that I didn't deserve it. Fallout of being an ADHD child who was passed among family members like a used Kleenex--if my parents didn't want me? Who the hell would? That was the lesson I learned--never good enough.
Then my counselor at the JC I graduated from suggested I apply to USC. She said I would be surprised what they could do for me financially. I thought she was crazy, but I did, I applied. I also applied to Cal-State LA and UCLA, the other local colleges. I was living in Pasadena, CA at the time.
UCLA rejected me but I was accepted to UC Riverside. Great if I wanted to live in heat and smog. Ugh. My life and job were in Pasadena even if I didn't already hate the Inland Empire. (I found out later that UCLA only took 10% of transfer students--2,000 out of 20,000 applicants. That took some of the sting away). But USC did accept me (they accepted 29% of all applicants). And they threw a pile of money at me in the form of grants. So I went. For two years. Then my life imploded and my depression increased and I got to the point where I didn't want to leave the house.
A few years later, head more firmly screwed on, goals clearer, I transferred to Chico State in Northern California. They had an editing certificate program. I had long loved editing, doing papers and resumes for friends over the years, but never thought about making a living doing it. With support from my boyfriend / husband, I discovered I loved school, loved editing a lot, and that there was a possibility I could make a career out of doing something I loved. What an exciting concept.
I graduated in 2008, and the economy went to shit shortly thereafter. There weren't any jobs for love or money. Not even shitty, soul-stealing, cubicle jobs. And my dream of working publishing got ill, then went to ICU, then died completely.
Until a chance meeting with a woman who had just started a publishing company with a friend. We traded cards, had a few meetings, and in August, I was offered a position as a project manager and editor. I just completed my fourth book for them, a high-tech science fiction novel. The author lives in New Zealand, so all of our interactions were done via email.
His book was fantastic--the story was there, it had good bones, it just needed to be fleshed out. And that's what I did. It's published now, and this is part of the email I received back from him in response to my email that his book was availabale for sale:
I'm doing what I love, and I'm getting paid for it. I work at home in my pajamas. And I can live off of that compliment for, well, the next year (with a nod to Mark Twain). I hope it lasts. *happiness*
My father took us on a road trip--I don't remember where we were going or who was with us except he and my step-mother--but it was the summer before college and I was going through the catalog and class schedule for my first year at community college as I rode along in the back of the van. And I remember trying to make sure that I had classes every day of the week, because I didn't want my dad to think I was slacking, even though that's what I really wanted to do.
I didn't have a car, hell I didn't have a driver's license until I was twenty, so I would be taking the bus to college--two buses in fact. I also got a job at the May Co, which was a high end department store before they went bust a few years ago. Think of a sort of Macy's West. I worked there four years.
At any rate, by the end of October, I'd had it with school. I was bored, tired, angry, frustrated, and rebelling like a mutherfucker, so I just quit going. My step-brother, who had moved back home at twenty-six so he could finish college, asked me one day if I was taking the day off or if I was done with school. I told him I was done, never thinking that he'd report this directly to my parents. It wasn't a good time.
But all my life, I've taken jobs because I thought I was supposed to, that my dreams were foolish, and work should be shitty, aggravating, and hard. And I also never felt really qualified to do anything other than be a busy little bee in the hive.
And then college. First, I graduated from communicty college. I worked full time most of the way through, and it took me four years, but I got that AA, something I had long considered unattainable. That I was not good enough and that I didn't deserve it. Fallout of being an ADHD child who was passed among family members like a used Kleenex--if my parents didn't want me? Who the hell would? That was the lesson I learned--never good enough.
Then my counselor at the JC I graduated from suggested I apply to USC. She said I would be surprised what they could do for me financially. I thought she was crazy, but I did, I applied. I also applied to Cal-State LA and UCLA, the other local colleges. I was living in Pasadena, CA at the time.
UCLA rejected me but I was accepted to UC Riverside. Great if I wanted to live in heat and smog. Ugh. My life and job were in Pasadena even if I didn't already hate the Inland Empire. (I found out later that UCLA only took 10% of transfer students--2,000 out of 20,000 applicants. That took some of the sting away). But USC did accept me (they accepted 29% of all applicants). And they threw a pile of money at me in the form of grants. So I went. For two years. Then my life imploded and my depression increased and I got to the point where I didn't want to leave the house.
A few years later, head more firmly screwed on, goals clearer, I transferred to Chico State in Northern California. They had an editing certificate program. I had long loved editing, doing papers and resumes for friends over the years, but never thought about making a living doing it. With support from my boyfriend / husband, I discovered I loved school, loved editing a lot, and that there was a possibility I could make a career out of doing something I loved. What an exciting concept.
I graduated in 2008, and the economy went to shit shortly thereafter. There weren't any jobs for love or money. Not even shitty, soul-stealing, cubicle jobs. And my dream of working publishing got ill, then went to ICU, then died completely.
Until a chance meeting with a woman who had just started a publishing company with a friend. We traded cards, had a few meetings, and in August, I was offered a position as a project manager and editor. I just completed my fourth book for them, a high-tech science fiction novel. The author lives in New Zealand, so all of our interactions were done via email.
His book was fantastic--the story was there, it had good bones, it just needed to be fleshed out. And that's what I did. It's published now, and this is part of the email I received back from him in response to my email that his book was availabale for sale:
Thanks so much for all the work on this. The book is so much stronger from your insightful, fantastic help...ps: did I mention you're brilliant?...I love the work you did on the novel. Just wanted to mention it again.
I'm doing what I love, and I'm getting paid for it. I work at home in my pajamas. And I can live off of that compliment for, well, the next year (with a nod to Mark Twain). I hope it lasts. *happiness*
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Lesson Learned
I am not a businesswoman. I am no good at that type of thing, which helps explain why my net worth is closer to zero than a million. I'm the artsy creative analytical type. But my learning curve is short. For example:
When I was negotiating a book contract for the author who I wrote about in the last post (and busted my hump for), and I asked the publishers, i.e., my bosses, if we would accept payments for this author. What I didn't think about was that that meant I would be paid in payments. I don't know what I was thinking, but it was something along the lines of "the publisher will pay me the full amount when the work is delivered, and they will accept the payments."
And I'm a gullible and naive nincompoop for assuming that and not asking. So for the last three months, I have been receiving payments of $200- a month. That pays my cell phone service and cable bill. Last month, by November 30th, I had not received even that. Not even an email or a phone call or a text (from the same author who likes to text at 8am on Sunday, midnight whenever, and expect me to drop everything I'm doing and meet her demands--and which I generally did [if I was awake.]).
I emailed my "boss" and asked her if they were still making payments or if something had changed? She told me to ask the author. So I did. At the last meeting I had with the author and their spouse in early November, they discussed with me in depth how they were trying to get financial backing for the book from a close family friend who would then get a share of royalties. So I emailed and asked if a payment was forthcoming or had something changed?
They had forgotten. They were sorry. They then drove over to my boss' house and dropped off a check that night. I then received my portion (90% of total) from my "boss" (really a friend more than a boss, although technically she is my boss and yay), from our publishing bank account at the author's book launch party on Dec. 3.
Now it is December 20th. No check has arrived. I'm concerned that I am going to have to chase them down every %(#&ing month for the monies I am contractually owed. I am still due about $2,000. If they continue at $200- a month, that will take ten more months.
*sigh*
So here is where the lesson is learned. I will never, ever accept payments again. Either you can afford our editorial services, or you can't. Yes, our goal is to get great authors published who normally might not (we don't accept every ms submitted to us--believe me--I've seen a few doozies. Wow. Awful.), but I also am doing this in an attempt to make a living.
I enjoy what I'm doing, I like working at home in my own time frame and in my pajamas, bathrobe, clothes, or whatever I feel like; the pay is good (when I get paid), but clearly I'm going to have to pay attention to more of the business side in this position. I have no one to point the finger at except myself. When this author, or any future author, wants to hire me for services, "NO, I won't take payments" is going to be in my lexicon. I'm sorry. Yes, I would love to see you published. Yes, you can even learn to format an e-book yourself (plenty have), but if you want a polished, clean book? One you won't be embarrassed to put up for sale? Hire an editor. I'm an editor and I had two other people review my resume. The writer spends so much time with their writing, that they no longer see it the way an anonymous reader would. The editor's job is to make sure that the anonymous reader understands what it is you're trying to say. After donut-eating, making someone else's writing better is my greatest skill and love. But I'm not a volunteer.
Lesson learned.
When I was negotiating a book contract for the author who I wrote about in the last post (and busted my hump for), and I asked the publishers, i.e., my bosses, if we would accept payments for this author. What I didn't think about was that that meant I would be paid in payments. I don't know what I was thinking, but it was something along the lines of "the publisher will pay me the full amount when the work is delivered, and they will accept the payments."
And I'm a gullible and naive nincompoop for assuming that and not asking. So for the last three months, I have been receiving payments of $200- a month. That pays my cell phone service and cable bill. Last month, by November 30th, I had not received even that. Not even an email or a phone call or a text (from the same author who likes to text at 8am on Sunday, midnight whenever, and expect me to drop everything I'm doing and meet her demands--and which I generally did [if I was awake.]).
I emailed my "boss" and asked her if they were still making payments or if something had changed? She told me to ask the author. So I did. At the last meeting I had with the author and their spouse in early November, they discussed with me in depth how they were trying to get financial backing for the book from a close family friend who would then get a share of royalties. So I emailed and asked if a payment was forthcoming or had something changed?
They had forgotten. They were sorry. They then drove over to my boss' house and dropped off a check that night. I then received my portion (90% of total) from my "boss" (really a friend more than a boss, although technically she is my boss and yay), from our publishing bank account at the author's book launch party on Dec. 3.
Now it is December 20th. No check has arrived. I'm concerned that I am going to have to chase them down every %(#&ing month for the monies I am contractually owed. I am still due about $2,000. If they continue at $200- a month, that will take ten more months.
*sigh*
So here is where the lesson is learned. I will never, ever accept payments again. Either you can afford our editorial services, or you can't. Yes, our goal is to get great authors published who normally might not (we don't accept every ms submitted to us--believe me--I've seen a few doozies. Wow. Awful.), but I also am doing this in an attempt to make a living.
I enjoy what I'm doing, I like working at home in my own time frame and in my pajamas, bathrobe, clothes, or whatever I feel like; the pay is good (when I get paid), but clearly I'm going to have to pay attention to more of the business side in this position. I have no one to point the finger at except myself. When this author, or any future author, wants to hire me for services, "NO, I won't take payments" is going to be in my lexicon. I'm sorry. Yes, I would love to see you published. Yes, you can even learn to format an e-book yourself (plenty have), but if you want a polished, clean book? One you won't be embarrassed to put up for sale? Hire an editor. I'm an editor and I had two other people review my resume. The writer spends so much time with their writing, that they no longer see it the way an anonymous reader would. The editor's job is to make sure that the anonymous reader understands what it is you're trying to say. After donut-eating, making someone else's writing better is my greatest skill and love. But I'm not a volunteer.
Lesson learned.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Tempus Fugit: Fuggettaboutit
What a wild, wild, wild, ridiculously busy week this past week was.
I've been working with four authors since about, oh, late September. I've been juggling and balancing and holding hands, and pat-pat, there-there-ing to beat the band (I never realized how much hand-holding was involved in editing. It's quite a bit, evidently.), I'm better at it some times than others (like when something isn't communicated to me and then the other person is surprised by my lack of action? you know, like that.)*ahem*.
One of the authors I just adore--we are totally different types of people, have completely opposing worldviews (which I did not make them aware of *ahem*), but they are a lovely, lovely, generous, compassionate, funny person whose company I enjoy. And they've written quite a novel. Nearly 500 pages. Book I of a trilogy.
I'd been mailing their edits done on paper after printing them out (50 pages at a time), because they weren't comfortable using track changes, the standard editing model/tool for the e-information age.
I finally got the rewrite emailed to me last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. We had had a long conversation about prepping for e-publication, all the steps necessary, how the window of opportunity for Christmas launch was teeny-tiny and I just didn't see how it would work--I had the author convinced to launch on Valentine's Day--post holiday holy-crap-how-much-did-I-spend-Christmas-blues would be abating, and a new holiday was a time to celebrate. Author thought that was an awesome idea.
The next day, I got an invitation to the book launch party scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 3. That gave me less than 7 days to proofread, eformat, and upload a 500 page novel.
Fuck me, but I got it done. I started on Sunday but only got about 30 pages done (that's my TV show night! Priorities!), my husband left early Monday morning to go to work, and I got up and spent 12 hours proofreading--four days in a row. I slept, I worked, I ate, periodically, I spent two hours on Wednesday evening taking out "and then..." from the narrative and replacing it with different words while I texted with a friend in Southern California.
Meanwhile, author and spousal unit are hounding me to finish so they can print a copy (why, they never tell me); I communicate to them that I need to finish the proofreading. They reply, "I said it was "OK" to publish as is." Uh, no. Just because you're paying for my services doesn't mean you get to decide what the final product should look like--my name is in there (in the acknowledgments), and my company's imprint and logo are on the book. We have reputations to protect, and the whole integrity thing. Just sayin'. They were a little surprised by my firmness in not just submitting what I was given (comma splice, comma splice, verb/subject coordination prob, using wikipedia as a fact source *naughtynaughty*), but just because it's "Your Book" doesn't mean you get to decide. Try to pull that shit on a New York publisher. Ha ha ha ha ha.
So anyways, Thursday night, Friday am really, at 2:30 I got that son-of-a-bitch uploaded on all the major e-book retailers. I would've liked to have spent more time with the book, proofreading it a second time, but honestly? I wasn't paid to do that, and I'd already gone over my estimated hours by 44 (which I won't get paid for--we don't charge over the estimate), but it feels great to have the fucker done and off my back. I have two more authors that need my attention (one I'm simply awaiting rewrites), and I told my boss send more work my way or if she needed help. She said she did. If this particular author wants a print version, and they want me to handle it? New contract, more billable hours.
Maybe for Valentine's Day? ;-)
***
1/2/12
OMG. This same author just e-mailed me for marketing help. I'm not contractually obligated to provide her any marketing assistance, but I wrote her a long email with suggestions of things she could do, even offered to set up a blog for her, tape a video for her to put on her website, blog, and author pages at Amazon and so forth, and then referred her to our publishers for further assistance, and I get this back from the author: OK. Thanks Jewels.
Seriously? WTF? I think she thinks she's written a bestseller and she would be able to quit her shitty job. Uh...no. Amanda Hocking was a fluke, and she had a great book. Un-fucking-believable.
I've been working with four authors since about, oh, late September. I've been juggling and balancing and holding hands, and pat-pat, there-there-ing to beat the band (I never realized how much hand-holding was involved in editing. It's quite a bit, evidently.), I'm better at it some times than others (like when something isn't communicated to me and then the other person is surprised by my lack of action? you know, like that.)*ahem*.
One of the authors I just adore--we are totally different types of people, have completely opposing worldviews (which I did not make them aware of *ahem*), but they are a lovely, lovely, generous, compassionate, funny person whose company I enjoy. And they've written quite a novel. Nearly 500 pages. Book I of a trilogy.
I'd been mailing their edits done on paper after printing them out (50 pages at a time), because they weren't comfortable using track changes, the standard editing model/tool for the e-information age.
I finally got the rewrite emailed to me last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. We had had a long conversation about prepping for e-publication, all the steps necessary, how the window of opportunity for Christmas launch was teeny-tiny and I just didn't see how it would work--I had the author convinced to launch on Valentine's Day--post holiday holy-crap-how-much-did-I-spend-Christmas-blues would be abating, and a new holiday was a time to celebrate. Author thought that was an awesome idea.
The next day, I got an invitation to the book launch party scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 3. That gave me less than 7 days to proofread, eformat, and upload a 500 page novel.
Fuck me, but I got it done. I started on Sunday but only got about 30 pages done (that's my TV show night! Priorities!), my husband left early Monday morning to go to work, and I got up and spent 12 hours proofreading--four days in a row. I slept, I worked, I ate, periodically, I spent two hours on Wednesday evening taking out "and then..." from the narrative and replacing it with different words while I texted with a friend in Southern California.
Meanwhile, author and spousal unit are hounding me to finish so they can print a copy (why, they never tell me); I communicate to them that I need to finish the proofreading. They reply, "I said it was "OK" to publish as is." Uh, no. Just because you're paying for my services doesn't mean you get to decide what the final product should look like--my name is in there (in the acknowledgments), and my company's imprint and logo are on the book. We have reputations to protect, and the whole integrity thing. Just sayin'. They were a little surprised by my firmness in not just submitting what I was given (comma splice, comma splice, verb/subject coordination prob, using wikipedia as a fact source *naughtynaughty*), but just because it's "Your Book" doesn't mean you get to decide. Try to pull that shit on a New York publisher. Ha ha ha ha ha.
So anyways, Thursday night, Friday am really, at 2:30 I got that son-of-a-bitch uploaded on all the major e-book retailers. I would've liked to have spent more time with the book, proofreading it a second time, but honestly? I wasn't paid to do that, and I'd already gone over my estimated hours by 44 (which I won't get paid for--we don't charge over the estimate), but it feels great to have the fucker done and off my back. I have two more authors that need my attention (one I'm simply awaiting rewrites), and I told my boss send more work my way or if she needed help. She said she did. If this particular author wants a print version, and they want me to handle it? New contract, more billable hours.
Maybe for Valentine's Day? ;-)
***
1/2/12
OMG. This same author just e-mailed me for marketing help. I'm not contractually obligated to provide her any marketing assistance, but I wrote her a long email with suggestions of things she could do, even offered to set up a blog for her, tape a video for her to put on her website, blog, and author pages at Amazon and so forth, and then referred her to our publishers for further assistance, and I get this back from the author: OK. Thanks Jewels.
Seriously? WTF? I think she thinks she's written a bestseller and she would be able to quit her shitty job. Uh...no. Amanda Hocking was a fluke, and she had a great book. Un-fucking-believable.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Just Sayin'....
Lack of planning (and ignoring professional advice) on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.
*rollingeyes*
Yes, I'll be back as soon as I'm "caught up" *ahem* on work.
*rollingeyes*
Yes, I'll be back as soon as I'm "caught up" *ahem* on work.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Far From Luck by Charles O'Hay
I'm delighted to announce the release of my first fully produced and edited book, Far From Luck by the fabulous poet, Charles O'Hay.
Here is a video of him reading three of the poems from FFL. Every one a gem. If you don't have a copy, but would like one, you can get a paperback at Amazon.com, or as an ebook for Kindle; Smashwords for various ereader formats including iPad; and BarnesandNoble.com for Nook.
And this also. (You may need headphones to hear it properly.) Photos are from his just released poetry collection, Far From Luck.
Here is a video of him reading three of the poems from FFL. Every one a gem. If you don't have a copy, but would like one, you can get a paperback at Amazon.com, or as an ebook for Kindle; Smashwords for various ereader formats including iPad; and BarnesandNoble.com for Nook.
And this also. (You may need headphones to hear it properly.) Photos are from his just released poetry collection, Far From Luck.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Work. Lots and Lots of Work.
Which hasn't left me much time for blogging. Plus, I'm reevaluating my presence on the Internet. I'm not one who ever desired to be famous or in the news; indeed, I'd always felt that if I somehow managed to pull off, say, a bestselling novel, I would be my generation's J.D. Salinger, a noted recluse. So, that's been on my mind.
And authors. Lots and lots of authors. I just closed a deal today for a client in New Zealand, and I'm close to closing another deal with an author in Southern California--the contract needs to be tweaked a bit to meet their specifications (the publisher is handling that); a favorite author/poet of mine and who I have been editing and producing his ebook and now his print on demand (i.e., paper) book is going to launch, *fingerscrossed* this weekend; and lastly, an author I've been hand-holding and trying to close a deal on for about a month or so stood me up for a meeting, yesterday, and that we had only planned the night previous, saying they "had been at the dentist and forgot. I'm so sorry." I had gotten cleaned up and dressed and drove to the coffee shop on four hours of sleep--I didn't want to go, but I did.
Huh. Not cool.
This author was already on a "mail only" program after previous shenanigans, but after my priority mail envelope to her came back to me because I did not have the right apartment number (think 905 vs. 9055, and yeah, the dumbass post office did send it back to me), and she was feeling anxious about the edits (she didn't want her document edited in Word using track changes--she wants them on paper, which I'm fine with, but takes longer). She tried to get me to meet her husband at 8:45 this morning, but I was firm that I would mail it and that it was no big deal for me to do. Needless to say, her project is not #1 on my list of things to work on.
I wake up in the morning, and I have a life to get up to. I usually leave myself a list or work stacked up on my desk so that when I do wake up, bleary-eyed and dazed (I've been like that all my life) and so I won't get sucked into reading every fucking blog or news site on the Internet, but limit that for later in the day.
And coffee. Lots of coffee.
I could never do this if I were in school. I rarely even think about it.
I'm learning new technologies and programs almost on a daily basis. And I'm either discovering these technologies and / or teaching them to myself. It's exhilarating. The days go by very quickly. I'm doing something I love, even when it's frustrating. Finally.
And authors. Lots and lots of authors. I just closed a deal today for a client in New Zealand, and I'm close to closing another deal with an author in Southern California--the contract needs to be tweaked a bit to meet their specifications (the publisher is handling that); a favorite author/poet of mine and who I have been editing and producing his ebook and now his print on demand (i.e., paper) book is going to launch, *fingerscrossed* this weekend; and lastly, an author I've been hand-holding and trying to close a deal on for about a month or so stood me up for a meeting, yesterday, and that we had only planned the night previous, saying they "had been at the dentist and forgot. I'm so sorry." I had gotten cleaned up and dressed and drove to the coffee shop on four hours of sleep--I didn't want to go, but I did.
Huh. Not cool.
This author was already on a "mail only" program after previous shenanigans, but after my priority mail envelope to her came back to me because I did not have the right apartment number (think 905 vs. 9055, and yeah, the dumbass post office did send it back to me), and she was feeling anxious about the edits (she didn't want her document edited in Word using track changes--she wants them on paper, which I'm fine with, but takes longer). She tried to get me to meet her husband at 8:45 this morning, but I was firm that I would mail it and that it was no big deal for me to do. Needless to say, her project is not #1 on my list of things to work on.
I wake up in the morning, and I have a life to get up to. I usually leave myself a list or work stacked up on my desk so that when I do wake up, bleary-eyed and dazed (I've been like that all my life) and so I won't get sucked into reading every fucking blog or news site on the Internet, but limit that for later in the day.
And coffee. Lots of coffee.
I could never do this if I were in school. I rarely even think about it.
I'm learning new technologies and programs almost on a daily basis. And I'm either discovering these technologies and / or teaching them to myself. It's exhilarating. The days go by very quickly. I'm doing something I love, even when it's frustrating. Finally.
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