Manic pixie dream girl.

Turned in yet another story today. I am meh about it; we’ll see how it goes tomorrow. But the schedule really is getting to me. The adrenaline rush and come down of burning through story after story–it’s burnout material, hardcore. Just because I CAN do something doesn’t mean it’s long-term sustainable, though it’s cool finding my limits. Got a fab critique in the nick of time from one Mr. Farkas that saved the day–I know the piece needs more work, but the down and dirty stuff got scrubbed up before submission at least.

David Anthony Durham (who I cannot acronym, because then he’d be DAD) has a brilliant critical mind and a dry, understated sense of humor that I just adore. We played a game in the common room tonight, what he calls “Pitch Me, Baby.” I’d offer up the rules, but it’s Durham’s super-sekrit game. Suffice to say, it reminded me of the good old days of Flagstaff improv, and I got to reference Christopher Walken.

Crits are done, Scotch has been consumed, and it’s only 10pm. Guess that means it’s time to write next week’s story, hmmm?

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