On Sunday night I spent four hours navigating 100 pages of writing. My wife was completing her portfolio for her administrative licensing and asked that I read, edit, and comment on 50 pages of material . . . some of the most boring and disinterested material I've read in months. I did my duty and line-edited the entire manuscript, then sent my congratulations to my wife in the other office by yelling, "Great job! When you gonna knock off for the night?"
But I wasn't finished.
I topped off the evening by completing a new book proposal that I'm entitling, Legends to Live By. It's a great work, if I do say so myself, and at fifty pages, it's a rather hefty book proposal as far as proposals go. Surely there's an editor out there who will be impressed by the sheer weight of this proposal. The editors may not like what I've written, but they'll have to be impressed by the quality of the book I hope to write. By the time my wife screamed back, "When you gonna knock off for the night?!" I was already nodding off, long past the residuals of the coffee and black licorice afterburn that had carried me for some hours.
Another Sunday night. 4 hours. 100 pages. 1 60-watt bulb. The sound of computer keys and dripping faucet.
Anyone want to trade places with me and experience a really boring life?
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