I decided somewhere between leaving theater and fight choreography & writing for more than my own amusement that for professional purposes, I was an actor first and a writer a distant second. My other jobs of house spouse and trivia host turning up as they will.
In hindsight, I'm glad I'm choosing to self-publish this series. I don't expect a publisher to be cool with "I know deadline's in three weeks but I just booked a recurring, see you month after next!" and suchlike shenanniganry.
But with acting back in a lull, my brain is making me focus on the book details. Which I know are going to be much easier once I've actually done them. But for right now I'm deep in the weeds. The ability to follow a thread on formatting and suchlike helps. Audiobook recording is trickier, like rehearsing for a play where I don't know where the sightlines are. But once I can put together a playing space that passes audible's requirements, adjusting performance to fit will be much simpler.
At least it's keeping me distracted from the real world.
So many times I've been tempted to engage and my brain just says, "book."
It's no comfort knowing that the usual folks who would normally be screaming about what toxic war monkeys people like me are because of Bruen are instead legitimately furious and terrified over the striking down of Roe. And joined by tenfold others.
And I really, really want to grab every single one of those "we'll adopt your baby" signs and cram it in the waver's most delicate orifice. Bitch, there are twice as many kids in the system as there are Marines on active duty. What the fuck is stopping you? Other than it being a lot easier to wave cardboard and convince yourself you're right instead of step up and fucking parent. And I say that as someone who will never be able to foster until I get to a financial point where I can bribe my way past the bigotry.
But, I'm getting my shows done, the house is in order, and I managed to escape long enough for a swim yesterday. I'll take it.
And now my brain is prodding me about a book.
Take care of yourselves out there.
In hindsight, I'm glad I'm choosing to self-publish this series. I don't expect a publisher to be cool with "I know deadline's in three weeks but I just booked a recurring, see you month after next!" and suchlike shenanniganry.
But with acting back in a lull, my brain is making me focus on the book details. Which I know are going to be much easier once I've actually done them. But for right now I'm deep in the weeds. The ability to follow a thread on formatting and suchlike helps. Audiobook recording is trickier, like rehearsing for a play where I don't know where the sightlines are. But once I can put together a playing space that passes audible's requirements, adjusting performance to fit will be much simpler.
At least it's keeping me distracted from the real world.
So many times I've been tempted to engage and my brain just says, "book."
It's no comfort knowing that the usual folks who would normally be screaming about what toxic war monkeys people like me are because of Bruen are instead legitimately furious and terrified over the striking down of Roe. And joined by tenfold others.
And I really, really want to grab every single one of those "we'll adopt your baby" signs and cram it in the waver's most delicate orifice. Bitch, there are twice as many kids in the system as there are Marines on active duty. What the fuck is stopping you? Other than it being a lot easier to wave cardboard and convince yourself you're right instead of step up and fucking parent. And I say that as someone who will never be able to foster until I get to a financial point where I can bribe my way past the bigotry.
But, I'm getting my shows done, the house is in order, and I managed to escape long enough for a swim yesterday. I'll take it.
And now my brain is prodding me about a book.
Take care of yourselves out there.
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