I’m in a crappy mood and I want to tear the world in half like a phonebook. Lucky for the world, I haven’t yet mastered the phonebook trick.
I learned last night that I’m not getting credit for the book I’ve been working on with the company I do copywriting for. This is totally fair: it’s been edited heavily since I worked on it. I’m also not so attached to the idea of being a non-fiction writer. These weren’t my ideas, I didn’t shape the project, and my commitment is more to the book being good and valuable (which I truly believe it will be) than to promoting myself.
Still… I am a writer, I thought I was going to be published, and now I’m not. That just plain sucks, and there’s no way around it.
I’ve asked them to take my name off it completely. If I’m going to be a ghostwriter, I should be that, and keep things clear so that there can’t be these kinds of misunderstandings or disappointments.
Time to put my head down and concentrate on finishing my own book. I’d like a castle right next to JK’s, and I’ll have my orchestra keep playing loud into the night.
My novel is coming along well, actually, and I’m really happy with my progress. I wrote all of Chapter Sixteen on Sunday, which surprised me.
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I had acupuncture today. That was neat, having this woman stick long, thin needles into my thumbs, calves, and feet. Did it do anything? I have no idea. When I used to do Aikido, I had no doubt that there was something to this notion of energy: I could go into that class in any state of mind, and I’d come out feeling like a breeze in a field. Judging from my mood today, I’d say that doesn’t apply here.