This weekend: I made a list of the things I needed to get done, sat down, did some of them:
Last night at the party, I jokingly said, "How did everyone's writing day go?" One thing you can be sure a writer doesn't want to be asked, trust me. Everyone immediately looked guilty; Glenn said, "I knew there was some reason I went to graduate school."
Of course, perhaps the other students, the ones not at the party, had put their butts in gear and were typing away.
Still to do:
Doing coverage will be useful, for a while at any rate, for getting to the heart of the matter in terms of what is the story about. Not what it symbolizes, not what it means -- what it is. I fully admit that this is one of my weaker areas, so the more practice I get at seeing just that part, the better.
Also, I can see what the competition is up to. Or down to, as the case may be.
Here's a paranoid thought: do readers, since most of them are writers as well, ever give bad coverage to good scripts, in order to cut down on the competition?
And last but not least, should my coverage be found worthwhile: I can make some money at it.
I can't believe this, as I look up at my bookshelves: I need bookends. I haven't needed bookends for years. More bookshelf space, yes; bookends, no.
More things I can't believe: when I moved in here, I had nothing. Sad and lonely and stuff-less. My apartment is developing entropy and creating stuff behind my back. I had nothing to do with most of this -- that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
All right, back to work. Must get organized. Must get things done. If nothing else, I just want to strike some items off that list. I'll sleep better, I'm sure -- something I could use after a horrible weekend of not falling asleep/sleeping too late. Yuck.
I swear to God, I'm going to go to one of those sleep centers. Really.