So, I've had a busy couple of weeks. Been working my ass off for two weeks at a publishing house AND I got two chapters done this weekend in time for Novel class on monday night. All in all, I've had a pretty satisfying couple of weeks. Certainly I feel vindicated for my experiences and the amount of work I've put in.
Unfortunately, I've put myself behind on my school work. It's nothing insurmountable. An essay that's admittedly not very long on two short stories I've read before and considered previously. I need to analyse the symbolism and how it talks about the barriers we put between ourselves.
Then I have to finish that awful novel I've been reading: The Master and the Margherita by Bulgakov. The devil take him.
THEN I need to go through a giant chunck of text and make a style sheet out of all the little details in it. Joy. But I've got at least a week to do the essay and the style sheet. That should be easy enough.
IF I can jump this hurdle then I am satisfied that I can manage all of my projects and get them done on time. I certainly hope so - typing two chapters in a weekend has given me a great deal of confidence. Maybe I can get a significant chunk of my novel done before the end of the term and feel somewhere approaching to proud of myself.
I don't actually...do that very often. I hold the strange belief that I am capable of stupendous amounts of fine work. Or something. I dunno? My particular brand of stupid isn't something I can control. I just don't know how to be happy with myself and the brief moments of satisfaction I do feel are fleeting. Alas, I'll just have to bust my balls and get the damn book done and then redrafted and published.
Then the world will be mine!
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