Housework. Writing Work. A Cheeseburger
Jun. 19th, 2006 03:51 pmDespite not feeling particularly well (sore throat, sinus problems, other things), I've managed get a remarkable amount of housework done today. Laundry, dishes, cat maintenance, general straightening, and I took down the card table we used to hold food during Saturday's gaming session.
I spent some time on the OWW as well, reading six stories and criting three of them. I need to prepare something to upload to the 'shop soon. I sent a query off the Weird Tales about a story they've had since February, I started working on a rewrite (I received a rejection from Between Kisses on a piece of flash. The editor said to expand it out and send it to his other magazine, Aoife's Kiss), poked at the Red Riding Hood in Space story, and read a bit.
The new mattress and box-springs come tomorrow. I'm excited. I'm doubly excited because I've slept like crap the four nights in a row and I'm thinking a new mattress might help matters.
I'm craving a cheeseburger, and not just any old generic fast-food bland-burger. I'm craving the kind of cheeseburger you find at little roadside greasy-spoons scattered all over the south. The kind of cheeseburger cooked by a fat old ex-biker with a dirty apron, three days worth of stubble on his chin, and a tattoo that says "Momma." The kind of place where the waitress wears one of those old classic white or pink uniforms, has horned-rim glass, and talks too loud. I want the fries to have been cut from a potato right there in the kitchen and I want the whole thing brought out to me in a little plastic red basket lined with wax-paper.
I want that kind of cheeseburger.
But I'm making stir-fry for dinner.
I spent some time on the OWW as well, reading six stories and criting three of them. I need to prepare something to upload to the 'shop soon. I sent a query off the Weird Tales about a story they've had since February, I started working on a rewrite (I received a rejection from Between Kisses on a piece of flash. The editor said to expand it out and send it to his other magazine, Aoife's Kiss), poked at the Red Riding Hood in Space story, and read a bit.
The new mattress and box-springs come tomorrow. I'm excited. I'm doubly excited because I've slept like crap the four nights in a row and I'm thinking a new mattress might help matters.
I'm craving a cheeseburger, and not just any old generic fast-food bland-burger. I'm craving the kind of cheeseburger you find at little roadside greasy-spoons scattered all over the south. The kind of cheeseburger cooked by a fat old ex-biker with a dirty apron, three days worth of stubble on his chin, and a tattoo that says "Momma." The kind of place where the waitress wears one of those old classic white or pink uniforms, has horned-rim glass, and talks too loud. I want the fries to have been cut from a potato right there in the kitchen and I want the whole thing brought out to me in a little plastic red basket lined with wax-paper.
I want that kind of cheeseburger.
But I'm making stir-fry for dinner.