"Hi. I am your conscience. And right now, I'm telling you that it's time for you to BLOG already!"
That's the message I got from my conscience today. And believe me, when your conscience suddenly starts talking to you, you stand up and take note. You also find yourself wondering whether those mushrooms you pulled out from the back of the fridge last night in a half-hearted attempt to get your five-a-day weren't a bit funny...
So here I am, blogging. But what about?
The problem with getting a job is that your life becomes a whole lot less exciting all of a sudden. Especially if that job is in Switzerland. And especially if you can't blog about your job because said job is so unique that as soon as you open your exhibitionist little mouth everyone would figure out exactly what it is you're doing.
Which would get you fired.
Although I suppose that would be something to blog about.
But until that happens, there's always the fascinating topic of the failed novel. I'm up to ten rejections now (they come in slow and steady, like an IV drip). I'm thinking I should publish the best ones and let you vote on which are the most insulting. So far I'm leaning towards the personalized and delightfully constructive "Res, you write beautifully, but your characters and plot suck."
As for the agents who asked for my full manuscript, not a peep out of them since October. Come on people, I wrote a 63,000-word basic Chick Lit novel, not War and Peace!
Okay, see? This is why I don't blog anymore. Because I just end up getting upset and ranting and raving and showing you my not-so-darling side...
I need some Gute Laune... can anyone catch me some of those? (with a side of sunshine, please)