Writer's Blocked, Me Arse!

It's one-thirty in the morning; boyfriend is passed out drunk, and I am staring at my manuscript, trying to make it write itself. Not going to happen.

If I were awesome, like K., I would put my kick-ass imagination to good use and write an entire chapter about myself and how great I am. Alternately, were I like M. (read: moody, selfish, and practically bipolar), I'd drink myself into a stupor, then complain about how much my life sucks and write about that instead.

On that note, maybe I should just go back to my old job and stick my head in a fryer for inspiration- hey, it worked for both the title AND the tagline of this blog-thingy, so don't knock it 'til you've tried it. That, and it's a lot easier to channel your inner emo when your life actually DOES suck and you have something to whine about, like the cold and crappy weather we had last week- perfect for sparkly vampires; not so much for me.

Off to stare at the computer screen some more,
L.

Thar, She Blows!

Yep. And does she ever.

Once again, not even spam in my inbox. I'm kind of disappointed, and starting to lose hope- the bookstore isn't keeping me, so it seems that the rest of my life is about to become the sad story of that writer-chick who just couldn't get out of the food-business... Like Steve Dublanica, except that a) he's a dude, and b) Waiter Rant was actually published.

As M. might say: "Life sucks, and then you die."

Way to go, M.

Maybe someone will redirect me some Twilight fan-mail, by mistake... that would keep me amused for a while.

Sigh.