Three weeks, two agents, one shot. That's what my writing life has boiled down to. But it's all good. I've got several irons in several fires, so in the event that one spike turns out dull, I'll use my remaining energies to stoke the other flames. And, yes, that concludes that chain of excruciating blacksmith metaphors. Last night I tried to work on another screenplay of mine, but I fell asleep at the keyboard again. Productive, indeed... I also received my 9th place certificate in the mail today. In fact, I'm using it as a coaster for my teacup right now. Yeah, it's 9th place, but it's the highest I've gotten so far. Simply looking at it validates the struggle.
My sister sent me a fly-ass tote bag yesterday. How can a tote bag be fly, you ask? Easy- when it's Beatle related. Can't wait to rock it this weekend. Of course, that means I have to find a place to go. How about Starbucks? If the Starbucks crowd can't appreciate the vintage tote, nobody can. So that's where I sit now: bumping Dr. Dre ("ain't nuthin but a G thang baaaaybay/two loc'd out G's going craaaaayzay"), avoiding writing and planning to sport my fly Beatles tote.
It's like this and like that and this and uh...
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