I am dire need of a divan, a fainting couch, a sofa, a futon–anything. When I first signed on for this gig, I knew there would be a lot of reading involved, but I didn’t quite factor in the occupational hazards. The volume of reading I can deal with, but it’s how I read that’s starting to catch up to me. Reading while sitting at my desk wreaks havoc on my neck and shoulders. At the moment I’ve jerry-rigged an arrangement where I lean the back of my desk chair against one angle of my desk while I prop my feet up on the opposite angle. This sort of approximates a reclining angle, but any sudden movement and I’m head over heels on the floor.
White-Harp Brrrrito! Also doubles as a neck pillow.
White-Harp often comes to work with me now to double as a neck pillow. Finally found a way to earn her keep, oh that Lazy Harp.
If you want a life. No, seriously, your time will no longer be your own. There are so many things I need to do (like finish my friend Tara’s commission!) and even more things I’d like to do, but ever and always there will be a growing number of manuscripts lurking in Tomas the Ereader, plaguing my guilty conscience.
That's my pouty face because I can't do the things I want.
Remember those days when you were a bright-eyed, immediately-declared English major, fresh to New York University and living in a world filled with possibility, when your ability to explicate great works of literature had such meaning and significance? When you were going to take over the universe with the brilliance of your prose, the clarity with which you illuminated the inarticulate vagaries of emotion? When you were going to convince the average Joe that yes, books were important because within them contained entire lives?
Looking back on some of my blog posts since starting work here at St. Martin’s Press, I’ve become slightly baffled by how much I talk about work. It’s like I have no life, you guys! How horrifying! It’s time I return to a self-centered, narcissistic monologue about my life.
(Not really. Except kind of really.)
Masquerade! Paper faces on parade!
I started this blog long before I was ever in publishing, but slowly and insidiously, the industry has infiltrated my entire existence–including social media. Cap’n Sweet Valley has me tweeting and Facebook-ing as part of my job description (not that I mind) and when I come home, it seems that all I can discuss/think/eat/breathe are books. I used to have hobbies! What happened to them?
Uncreated Conscience is JJ's blog, in which she rambles about the toils and tribulations of writing her first novel, why CSS eats her brain, or how skydiving takes all of her money.
And when she's done with that, she's reviewing books and looking for fiction to publish for postadolescent, "new adults.
