Listening to: Guster, "Airport Song"
Not really much to update.
Book 2: The agent wait continues. It has now been one month and two days since I sent my full, on request. I'm doing pretty well distracting myself with other things, although how well I do this depends on the day of the week and the time. E.g., mornings are good, but afternoons kinda suck.
Book 3: The revisions continue. Wrote 850 thrilling words yesterday, most of which I will probably delete on another revision.
Virginia: Spent a lot of time last week being around other human beings--a nice change of pace, that--and now I have to get used to being alone all day, all over again. In other words, a lot of people have been getting random phone calls and long, rambling voicemails from me during the day.
Fleas: I think we got rid of them all, but I've become incredibly paranoid. I peer closely at the cat every time he scratches himself (which is more frequently than he should), and I just discovered a bunch of bites on my left calf. Not sure if they were there before, and I just didn't notice them, or if they might be new. We couldn't possibly still have fleas, though--we used three foggers, vaccuumed every inch of the apartment, washed every item of clothing we own and the cat's bedding, sprayed flea stuff underneath the furniture and on the bed, and the cat's Frontline should still be in effect. I really, really hope they're gone. That was a bad day.
Not much else to report.
Back to the writing.
If you don't feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then possibly what you are doing isn't very vital. If you don't feel like you are writing somewhat over your head, why do it? If you don't have some doubt of your authority to tell this story, then you are not trying to tell enough. --John Irving