As I recall, the late Isaac Asimov once quipped that he didn't enjoy publishing books, he just liked writing them. I suppose I'm cut from this same cloth . . . though God knows I have not met with the same level of success or proficiency. Still, two evenings of writing is great sport for me, and I have plenty to accomplish.
This past week I signed another contract for some additional short essays (which I now have to write and deliver before December) and I am waiting under great duress and expectation for the giddy-up on several books that I hope to deliver, whole and in apple-pie order, at various deadlines in 2013.
(More on this in 2013 after I've had a decent meal and a full eight hours of sleep.)
Whenever my wife returns at eleven o'clock from these middle-school sporting forays, she wants to know: "What did you accomplish today?" *
* NOTE: She asks this to make me feel guilty, knowing full well that she has worked much harder and longer than I, as she only gets five hours of sleep a night. She is always surprised when I tell her that I have, indeed, worked a full day too, but also cleaned a toilet, fixed myself a Hot Pocket, puked it, and afterwards wrote for three hours fueled by pure adrenalin and black coffee. Then she tests my patience by asking if I have been writing anything for money, as she knows that most of my writing is pure speculation, like panning for gold, and that even when I do get paid, it is usually in the form of IOUs or coupons to Pizza Hut. She informs me that she is tired, and must now retire to bed, whereupon I write for another three hours. This is my way of showing her who's boss. It is also where my best love poetry comes from. And afterwards, I turn out the lights.
1 comment:
I especially like that you cleaned the toilet BEFORE puking your hot pocket. :)
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