Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Professional Win!

So, I've been accepted into the Humber College Correspondence Program for Writers. I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming about attending this program. It's a 'studio' course which basically consists of a published, professional literary author working as editor on an unpublished manuscript. My unpublished manuscript. The little manuscript that could.

Starts in May. I am so excited I did a bunch of work on 'marketing' the book, which may or may not have been getting ahead of myself. Since the program and the editing of the manuscript will end in November, it looks as though if I am going to go the self published route (which seems rather attractive at the moment) than the book will be ready for the first of January, 2014. That's right. I picked that date. I have a lot of work to do before 2014!

Side note: most famous (to me) alum of the program:

Sweet. Ok well stay tuned for some future posts about things related to my upcoming novel. I.E. robots, AI, automation. Weee!

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Taking back what's mine

I don't know if it was the holidays (yes, I know that was some time ago), or perhaps the recent writing competition, but the fever I had back in the fall for fashion and the gathering of clothing in a destruction, consumptive way has broken. Long since broken -- the past two and a half months have been about eliminating distractions (including fashion) and focusing on my career. All the extra pennies I have (or lack thereof since our dumbass government decided to get rid of them) have been earmarked for that.

Now, I'm not exactly at the stuffing-my-cash-into-my-mattress stage especially since what little bits of money I have mainly go towards repaying crushing student loans. But I am, more and more, turning my back on spending money on consumptive goods. I feel very much betrayed by this continent and its corporate agenda. I want my money, I don't want it to go into the pockets of some over-priced, under-qualified old dude who really doesn't need it.

As an explanatory example:

Really, now. How can this be a part of my life, my universe at all? Now, I've never owned a coach item of anything. Even back when close friends, family members, acquaintances of mine would insist that the thing to do would be to cross the border to obtain, at a lower price, such a coveted item, I would take one look at those Giant Logos and think, "now really, why would I pay hundreds of dollars to be someone company's advertising? They should be paying me to carry that logo around." But back then, I had some vague shadowy notion that the person or people behind these items that so many women that I know want so, so badly must be of the female persuasion. Right?

Wrong. What does some old guy worth multi millions know about my life and what I want? How could that corporation even fathom how to sell to me?

And although I seem to be singling out one company, the story is the same over and over again. So I make a decision. Let's put aside the fact that all these companies with ultra-rich old dudes at the helm sell things that are oh so bougie, and just say that until and unless the world at large decides that I am worth enough to make a living wage at my chosen profession, I hold my tiny income hostage. I will not participate in this constructed identity that you put before me and nudge me towards. If you want me to buy your silly crap then you'll have to give me a bunch of money first (and even then I'd really have to think about it. That stuff is devalued the moment you buy it).

Actually that makes it seem as though I have a price. The old cliche, everyone has a price. No thanks. Don't want your crap in my life. Who's with me?

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Catch that Morning Wave

It's morning, weee! Have you got your morning coffee? Well I've got my morning green tea. A strange quirk of my body that I have known about for so long: I am a morning person.

I cannot stay in bed very long. Even those reckless epic party night where one stays up until 4 in the morning, I still wake up not long after 8 with tired eyes but spinning brain. Take today. So yesterday I wrote about the 45 minute long shoveling ordeal that left me with sore arms and abs. But today despite my body and eyes resisting it, I am awake at 7 a.m. with a mind exploding with ideas. And the only thing to do about this mental alertness? Take advantage of it, of course.

It's the reason why I get up immediately and drink a green tea and have a working breakfast most days, even weekends. I need to catch this wave of energy before it dissipates. To focus it on the task at hand before 11 a.m. rolls around. 7 a.m. to 11 a.m., those are my golden hours.

From 11 a.m. until about 3 or 4 p.m., however, there sets in a period of relative brain-deadness. Some days are better than others with some being "just need a little pick-me-up" to others during which I am completely useless. As in, I nod off at my desk without noticing until I suddenly blink awake thinking, "did that just happen?"

And then come the hours of 4 p.m. to 9 p.m., during which I have another surge in energy. More of an unfocused restlessness, however. Time to institute an afternoon nap? It just seems like such a waste of time.

I'm not sure when I found this out about myself. Actually, no. I lie. It was undergrad. Maybe even a little in the latter days of high school. Remember those afternoon classes? Basically I fell asleep in every one, mostly because I am not a huge coffee fan. I'm sure I could have rectified the situation with a cup of coffee or ten. Hindsight, et cetera.

So that's what I'm up to at the moment. Catching that morning wave of energy. Wow! Is this day so boring I am writing about my biorhythms? Suppose so.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

The Worst Place on Earth

So last night I was watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother -- that one when Robin nearly gets deported back to Canada since she doesn't have a job. I really don't know what season. Anyways, so Barney makes this crack about how he doesn't want her to go back and have to report on how the mayor of Winnipeg's nephew caught a huge fish or something. Then he mimics her : "This is Robin Scherbatsky reporting from the worst place on earth."

Not to be hating on my current city, but no -- I am. It's true. This really is the worst place on earth. This morning I had to dig the house out of three feet drifts of snow for the third or fourth time this winter. Look at this ridiculousness:

And that was from the last time this happened. And it's not enough that I have to do this every week or two, but every time it snows -- even though I usually put off the shoveling for days afterwards -- little ole me and my little ole shovel are still faster and more efficient than the farm equipment they try and pass off as snow plows around here.

Well, at least it counts as cardio!

In the meantime I am embroiled in the final encompassing edit that will finally put this first novel to bed. I have designed a cover and am thinking about a book trailer. Indie publishing an ebook and simultaneously sending the thing off to agents. A two-pronged strategy. Have I said this already? I feel as though I have. Single mindedness. Not necessarily a bad thing.