Agonies of a Young Author

Oh boy. Has this been the day of all days. Apparently my dog decided to make friends with the wrong end of a skunk and consequently I spent all of my evening doing damage control. The house is terrible, the dog little better, and of course me tainted as well, so no wonder I had to knock back the literary equivalent of a few stiff ones. But I was good and avoided temptation in the form of Barnes and Nobles, mainly because I've gone two days in a row and certainly haven't finished all I've bought, although I am close. Sorta. Enough to rationalize going back tomorrow. And I definitely deserve to escape for a few hours from this den of ode du scunkque.

Part of my B&N purchases were the first and second seasons of House, which have put me in such an obsessive funk that I forgot the first night to write a blog, then stayed up all night the second night (ignoring the blog) so that I crashed so hard the third night is all groggy (unable to even comprehend what a blog might be) and only on the fourth night to recover my wits enough to guilty avoid the blog because I ignored a literary pursuit in favor of gasp! base, crass pandering to the ignorant masses and the equivalent of creating brain rot that leds to an early and ignoble creative death of all academia or intellisia ...the TV. lol.

Tomorrow's forray back into the wonderland that is A BOOKSTORE (any will serve, but B&N happens to be the only one in my hometown that carries an acceptably wide variety of genres. Apparently here second-hand bookstores are only required to stock paperback romances. Diverting and delightful, I'm sure, in the right quantity and at the right time, but for a girl that literally goes to the bookstore 3 times in a week more options are a neccessity) is stemmed by a determination to get, sigh, yet another calender. My zeal for seperating notebooks based on different purposes have become slightly ridiculous, even to myself. I have my school calender, all set up with highlighted classes and study periods. A small notebook for writing down in brief the events of the day, like lunch with my roommate or a special lecture I attended. A larger, gilt-edged leather bound notebook that is my journal of emotions and impressions, written sporadically instead of the daily chronology that is the events notebook previously mentioned. The new writing calender, with my daily activities like this blog and the weekly installations to my serializations, along with the writing contests and other deadlines I've taken on. There's the thick journal called the "Someday Book" which has all the advantages of the goals and dreams and magazines clippings of things I want someday as well as my planning to SOMEDAY actually get around to actually writing it. Next are the mini Moleskine journals for seperate novel ideas that I'm working on. And then there's this new calender I want, designated for the recording of book release dates. I'm determined that I'm to be a true bibliophile, a renaissance reader all across the board, and have at least one book release per month, and ideally one per week. Of course, that means that I need to discover a whole ton more writers that I like, who are all publishing in a timely manner. And, of course, this means more trips to Barnes and Nobles. And, of course, I certainly wouldn't be banking on that fact. Oh no. Never. =)


Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Nothing. Mssr Peppee le Pew has given me a monsterous headache.
What I want most: The smell to magically disappear from my carpet overnight, of course.