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I have had this conversation before. Many times. If I dyed my hair gray, I could re-enact this video for you without watching it a second time, because I just had that conversation THIS MORNING.
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I've got some big changes coming up, but strangely, I'm sort of numb about the whole deal.

For example, in seven weeks, I'm finally getting my own place. No roommates. Yes, I have to move to the suburbs, but it'll be my space, where I am soley responsible for buying the dishsoap and toilet paper, and no one else's nicknacks are sitting there undusted. I've wanted this move forever. Knowing it is actually happening, I should be excessively excited. Instead I'm kinda, "Meh." 

Friends and family are congratulating me, but all I did was sign some paperwork and hand over a check. You know, like a grown-up.

And then there's this other thing: I'm dating. Like, not really someone specific, as yet, but I had a date and now I have another one coming up and it's all so normal and not earth shattering. I would really have thought the earth would tilt on its axis a bit, you know, since I've been avoiding putting myself out there for so long. Except, as nice as it is, it's nothing to swoon over yet. Although I at least held out some hope that at some point in the future I might swoon.

So that's not as exciting as I thought it should be.

I'm wondering if this feeling of numbness is residual from recieving the independent edit of Smashing that I requested. It finally reached me on Sunday, and I've been trying to figure out how to process it ever since. I feel like I should be all prickly and sensitive about what came back - a very comprehensive assessment of what's happening and NOT happening in the novel I've worked on for years, but I'm not.

Actually, all I can think is that, I think the editor is right. My heroine doesn't do her job - she isn't a heroine, per say, and I've got some work to do to push her there. At times my focus isn't genuine. It's spot-on advice that's only going to make the manuscript better.

And yet, I'm really like, "Yup, okay, so what do I do?" Even though, and this probably makes no sense, I know what to do. She told me. It's something I've needed for a long time, but I'm not doing anything about it yet.

So, to sum up, I'm on the brink of getting what I want: my own apartment, potential to find the love of my life, and a way forward with my book. The Universe is giving me what I want. And instead of being really happy about these things, I find it inheriently more interesting today to dwell on how thirsty I am. Honest. My brain as decided that my water consumption is way fascinating.

Go figure.
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Choices, choices, choices

I've been thinking about instinct, as in, how do I trust my own instincts? I won't claim to have super powers or anything like that, but it seems to me, when my gut tells me to watch out for something, or I just get that general unsure feeling, then things don't usually work out in my favor. The science isn't full-proof, and sometimes hard to distinguish from anxiety, but it is fairly consistent. I was unsure about the conference I went to this month, and it turned out to be a very mixed bag experience. Sometimes great, sometimes, uhm, yeah, still trying to figure out what happened.

However, approaching my newest venture - paying for a professional edit - hasn't given me the slightest bit of pause. I'm thinking of it as the natural next step. Even though it is expensive, I feel like it will be worth it.

What I'll be interested to know is whether or not I'm correct on this assumption. Does this get me to the place I need to be - having a marketable book to sell? Because the truth is, I have very little interest in writing a book for the sake of it. I want a career, and if I want that, I can't sit around thinking there's something wrong with the industry I want to be a part of - I've got to think of what can make my book thrive in the industry as it exists. I'll leave breaking the mold to other writers with other ambitions. 

It's early in the whole process, but I really want to know how this plays out.
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Some Things We Must Discuss - An Open Letter

Dear Future Love of My Life,

We haven't met yet, that I know of. But, I feel like I must tell you something vitally important. I don't dobut that I will love you like crazy. I'm confident that we'll be very happy, you know, once we get that whole meeting and getting to know you and falling madly in love thing out of the way. But there is something you've got to know before we get on with all of that.

It is not a matter open for negotiation, but you can learn to live with it.

I will always love New Kids on the Block. A little part of me will always be 11-years-old, and will squeal as such when I hear Please Don't Go Girl. Even if it's in the supermarket, and I'm say, buying something appropriate, like cheese, I really will get a big grin on my face, and probably sing along, and sigh when the song is over, because they may in fact be my first love. And your first love is forever.

I just got back from the show at Fenway. It was amazing. I'm so happy, it's ridiculous. I had so much fun. I danced and screamed and made a variety of high pitched noises. I may have strained a vocal chord. Absolutely worth every penny I paid to go. Worth it to walk home in the pouring, soaking, cold rain afterwards. ,It was SO FANTASTIC.

Just so you know, because we're on the topic, I've also given small pieces of my heart to the 2004 Boston Red Sox and my Snuggie. The last one is a habbit I'm trying to break, but, well, just so you're aware that it may be a problem down the line.


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Adventures of a Hot Mess

I had on my cutest sundress. My pony tail was appropriately bouncy. I even had makeup on. So it made perfect sense to me that the cute guy in line next to me at the coffee shop was smiling at me.

I smiled back, reaching for my coffee.

And realized he wasn't so much smiling at me as trying not to laugh at the fact that one of my removable bra straps had come unhooked was dangling out from under my arm.

Yeah. It gets worse. I tried to descretely wiggle it inside my dress, and in the process, the other side came unhooked.



Well, ... Crap.

When I return from vacation later this month, I'm going to look for a second job. I don't want to, and in fact, used to believe I wouldn't need it thanks to my current niffty full-time job, but, sadly, it is the case. I need to earn more money, pay down my student loans and build up a savings account.

The goal is to buy a house, sooner rather than later. On my current income, that isn't going to happen. And since literary lightening hasn't struck, and a hot, rich dude hasn't appeared to start paying all of my expenses (yeah, I'm not above that) well, time to get over myself and just see what's available.
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In Which I'm Over It

So, being the chipper and vivacious girl I am, I've decided to no longer be sad about the non-fate of my novel. First, because, as I tell myself daily, I'm still frickin' awesome. Second, because I have no intention of quitting the whole "would-be published author" business.

I just have to try something else.

So, in short, I pouted some, but now I'm over it. I'll write something else.


Actually, I've already written something else, so I could dive in head first with sending out this a new project, but I'm trying to make sure I get some feedback first. I think it's wonderful, but, like my over-inflated sense of self-worth, I have no idea how much this jives with reality. So I'm going to be a grown-up, and make sure I have a little prespective before I make any moves.

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It's Not that I'm Giving Up, It's That I'm Moving On

I think it may be time to shift my focus for finding a literary agent from Smashing to another of my projects. I think I've made an extrodinary effort to get it out there, but ultimately, I'm just not getting the response I want. If I want to sign with someone and get my work published, I have to be flexible and open to the idea that another of my projects might be a better first publication.

I just wish it wasn't working out this way. You should have seen me when I finished the first draft of Smashing. I was so certain and excited about it. I loved it (still do), and I just knew it was my ticket to being a published author.

Except that it doesn't seem that it is working out that way.

I have another project that I believe is really good, and  I'll move forward with that one. I am determined that I will be published sometime before I leave this world. No, I never thought it would take this long, but I guess that's just part of my journey. I remain committed to my chosen career field and will never give up. Right now, however, I've just got to try another tactic.
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A Post By Request (Hi Michelle!)

So, as some of you may know, and many of you may not, I've been on a really intense diet. I don't talk about it much on here because I talk about it so much in real life, I'm sort of sick of hearing myself talk about it. Also, that would require me to update more regularly, and frankly I'm far too busy sitting on my couch with my Snuggie drinking coffee for that.

Which is to say that I'm beginning to wonder if my Snuggie has some sort of laziness drug in its cheap fleece, because seriously, the thought of using it on a cold morning makes me so happy, I can't even tell you. It's a sickness. Like hoarding, only, you know, entirely more passive.

I'm off track. Okay, so, the intense diet...

Can I just say that it makes me a crazy girl? It messes with me. Because I've officially reached the "I'm mad" stage. For those of you unfamiliar with the stages of dieting, they are as follows:

1. Determination - things are peachy, you're starting out and woo-hoo, look at that you lost a pound!
2. Misery - things are chugging along, but crap you only lost a pound.
3. Serenity - which is vaguely the gray area between the first two stages, but rarely ever happens between them. You are okay with losing a pound.
4. Self-Righteousness - in which all dieting related things, eating, not eating, exercise make you an insufferable martyr, especially as you did not lose a pound this week.
and finally,
5. Mad - Everything about this diet makes me mad and I will continue to be mad and stay mad because I am sick to death of being on a diet and I would feel better, damn you, if I just lost another pound.

So you see, it's emotionally draining.  Being in the mad to be on a diet stage makes me crazier then ever. Because as mad as I am that I'm drinking vile protein powder shakes and that I have to let go of the Snuggie and get my ass off the couch, I'm also so stinkin' happy because, that ass I'm getting off the couch is a lot smaller. It is a very bipolar feeling.

So I've decided to take out my frustration by going to hit something, which makes it convienient that the Living Social coupon for Boston today was for a women's boxing classes. Otherwise, someone (probably the next person to eat anywhere within backhand range) was going to get hurt.


By purchasing it I've saved people. Like a superhero. And, bonus, I can now begin to use the phrase, "Today at my foxy boxing class...." And when is that not awesome?