Tuesday, September 10, 2013
I will never grow up past twelve.
Ye Olde Day Job is holding a "secret pal" game to boost morale; the basic gist is that we each have a secret pal that we're giving little gifts to each week, with a big reveal to take place in October. Clearly, my secret pal knows me extremely well. I wrote everything in longhand until I graduated college and got my first laptop (this is what happens when you're po'...and even as I type that I can picture the truly po' folks out there lining up to kick my ass, so never mind). Though I've joined the modern world and do my drafting and editing out of a computer (likely thus saving myself early-onset arthritis in my fingers and wrists), I still do all of my outlining out of notebooks. The prettiest notebooks I can find, with pens containing the shiniest and most childish of ink colors. I carry them about, I cuddle them, I know this is strange. A coworker actually had to ask me if I needed them removed from my possession until the day was over.
I might have bared my teeth and growled a little. I'm not perfect.
However, now that I'm close to finishing Naomi's book (an admittedly hard birth), I'm starting to think ahead to post-Super things. (Now you watch Bulletproof kick the living crap out of me.) I've had a series of books centering around the Lilith myth chasing me since high school; they sort of haunt me. I can't think of a better place to put the outlines. Putting dark books under happy veneers always amuses me.
(Yes, that is my desk, and the rest of it is even worse. I actually had to frame the picture carefully to avoid revealing people's sensitive information. But I know where everything is!)