iBLAAAARGH

I missed a (two?) days. SHAME.

My excuse: vomit.

Not as in 'my excuse has roughly the same commercial value as vomit,' but as in, 'I was busy making-'

-you know what, you see where this is going.

I'm better now, and full of uber pride because I didn't even take a day off of work. I am hardcore like that. Once, I was badly concussed, and I only took ONE DAY off of my dayjob. I don't remember pretty much that whole week, and I only patchily remember the next two or so weeks after that, but still. I showed up, I did my job, and I didn't do anything to get fired, nor did I manage to maim myself.

Hard. Core.

Now I am as healthy as any writer ever is (except maybe Lord Byron--dude must have been the pinnacle of smexy manhealth) and back to daily blogging and angsting about writerly things.

I finished my query letter, and scored some megaluck by means of a free query critique from a real-live author who I've never met. I'm hoping she'll have some epic red-pen notes for me, and the query will achieve perfection long before the conference in July.

I'm still waiting on most of my Betas, and squiggle-worm-dancing on what project to work on. I want to keep my mind in Lorelei mode, so that when the time comes I can dive back into revisions and what have you without hesitation. Like a jungle cat on fire. But it will be, at the very least, half a month before that time comes. And that is just...so...long. To not be fiction-writing. Blogging is not the same.

First World Writer problems...