The time I paid the $70 dumb bitch tax

Disclaimer: I call myself a bitch and a slut and a cunt and a drunk and a dumbfuck and all of that because 1) It’s me, I’m ALLOWED to refer to myself HOWEVER I please, also 2) I’m attempting to point out that men need to think of better supreme insults than calling a woman a bitch. My own father has called me a bitch. Do better.

So. It was two weekends ago. The weekend right before New Years Eve (which was obnoxiously on a Monday). I had just finished transcribing draft #2, and was very excited to get it printed at Office Max to give to my beta reader (N).

When I was ordering this manuscrupt on Office Max’s website, I SPECIFICALLY asked my husband, “Now you DON’T want a copy of this as well, right? I need to know because I need to order it now.” He said no, don’t do that, save the $, he’ll just read the pages I print at home.
YEAH

Except my husband did that ~adorable~ thing he does, where as soon as he SEES something, he’s very overtaken by the need to have it. So that same evening we’re leaving OM and he’s freaking out, saying things along the lines of “Oh I’m so excited to read this now.”

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

Is it just me, or is that him being a crazy controlling brat who tries to make everything about him? Because just wait

I specifically said to my husband, I told you this copy from OM was for N, I told you that and I ASKED you if you wanted your own copy and YOU SAID NO. BUT NOW, NOW THAT THERE’S A CHANCE TO ACT LIKE THE WOUNDED VICTIM, OH FUCK KNOWS YOU COULDN’T PASS THAT ONE UP.

He was terse and pissy and rude the rest of the evening, telling me he was “just trying to get excited” about my writing. OH BUT THE WRITING THAT’S BEEN WAITING FOR HIM TO READ AT HOME FOR MONTHS, THAT HE JUST COULDN’T GET EXCITED ABOUT. OR MAYBE he’s just trying to take something that’s SO important to me and make it about himself.

That’s how that makes me feel.

So. I noticed a few issues with OM MS #1 (if you’re not in the know, MS means manuscript, so fancy word for draft of unfinished work). and was like, okay husband, I’m going to order a second MS, because this first one is missing an index I want it to have and it’s missing page numbers (my bad, not Office Max’s).

SO I was like, all right husband, I’m going to print a SECOND $35 MS at Office Max (same weekend, same worker who was super rude the first time I picked the MS up, but was really nice the second time…and he seemed super gay, so like…did he read a part of it? hahahahhaha that makes me laugh. I don’t blame him if he did….how often does that Office Max print epic shit?) and I do. And I’m showing the second, slightly better copy to my husband, and he PULLS THE SAME SHIT.

In that, he starts “getting excited” about reading the better MS I $35-printed. EVEN THOUGH I told him the better one was going to N. Because why would you give a beta reader a copy without page numbers? Like really? If I couldn’t have paid for the second one I would have written page numbers in, of course, but I had a little $ from Christmas so I was like fuck it lets do this.

SO my husband pulls the same But-I-wanted-that shit with me, like he has done so many times in the past with so many other things, not the least of which being my physical body of course. Like there were MANY times during our multi-partner sexcapades that he made me feel like a tree he needed to piss on after he saw another dog pissing on it.

Yeah, anonymous sex with a bunch of different peopele didn’t make me feel great about myself. GO FIGURE. I just wish the guys were hotter. The girls were all right, I found the first one super hot, and the second one was one of those like I’ll do anything because I know I’m a 5 types. We all know I like ordering people around. Anyway.

So. After much angry storming off and sullen silence, my husband’s usual, along with getting this specific facial expression very akin to something his father does when upset. I just wish my husband also NEVER yelled or grew violent like his father as well, my husband came to peaceable terms with the notion that I would want to give an “outsider” beta reader the more polished/professional looking copy.

SOO GOOD OF HIM, RIGHT? Like for real I was discussing this with my best friend via text the entire time. She never really offers much an opinion, but she did point out that his excitemnet for reading my shit shouldn’t be so contingent on how it’s printed. She definitely didn’t word it that way, but yeah.

So I messaged N on Twitter (because that is the only way we’ve interacted at all since…well, like I need to elaborate…think I’ve done that enough elsewhere) about having it ready for him, and he said, and I quote, “Next few days for sure” around December 29th. YEAH. IT HAS YET TO HAPPEN. He does have some shit to deal with in his life, and yeah like I DO get that…but…at the same time…..should I just like…keep prodding about it? Like I somehow doubt he’s forgotten that I told him I had a specially printed MS for him to read? SOOOO?… ?…..? LOST.

Unless he’s just waiting until he’s done dealing with his shit, then he’ll be like yeah let’s get that over to me.

I told him awhile ago that I didn’t want to mail it or email it…I mean, printed a physical copy is the fucking plot to this story…so….but at the same time, like a simple hand off at a starbucks midday on a Sunday would’ve worked for me, or something equally as innocuous/not seeming like I’m still trying to fuck this guy. Because, like, I REALLY do want someone else whom I consider “smart” (I mean I know him from grad school and he teaches at a college…so….) to read this and tell me what they REALLY think. Like…Aghhhhh I was SO fucking close to having that happen…and NOW he’s stringing me along when it comes to this like the other shit and ahhhhh

I know I go on about how I’m patient, and I really am, but I also get really angry all the time. It’s not so easy reconciling these two things.

Speaking of impatient, I’m probably writing on this upsetting topic and crying a ton about it because I’m probably due to start my period in a few days. And, I think we all know why that’s a little depressing. You never know it until you’re at that point, if you ever are, but each month it’s some annoying painful defeat to get one when you don’t want to. You tell yourself it’s for the best and you’re not financially ready and to not think about the fucking idiots you know who who DO get to have kids….but it happens anyway.

But I now have in my possession 2 $35 manuscripts printed from Office Max. The better one, the one intended for N, is almost completely pen-edited by this point. I’m on page 242 of like 265. So, yesterday I DM him and am like, well since i’m almost done editing this, you might as well wait until I’m done with it and have it printed again….and then he more or less didn’t respond…like he said something in response, but it wasn’t an acknowledgement of ANY sort of action taking place on his part soon. So….should I be taking this as a sign to let it go? WTF. I mean, who doesn’t love being brushed off right? It’s not that I don’t understand not dealing with something because you’re dealing with your own shit, I just KNOW I wouldn’t do this if the roles were reversed. Because I have a VERY strong subservient/desperate for a specific kind of male attention streak. I mean. I know this. My mom and Grandma and all. And like…why do you think I put up with R so much? You have no idea some of the fucked up shit that happened with him. I don’t write about it because I’M TRYING TO FUCKING FORGET because it gives me anxiety because it COULD have gone so wrong. Blackout alcoholics are fucking scary and need to be kept on a farm somewhere, together. Until they’re all dead. There. i said something really fucked up this far in so only my TRUE followers will see it.

You can’t blame me though, really. Not after W. And R. There’s no going back from breaking certain things. Nope. I get I put up with it for some time so it seemed like that would go on forever…but I always surprise people when I like snap and am done with them FOREVER.

ANYWAY

BACK TO THE $70 dumb bitch tax

So the copy I had to buy because my husband suddenly needed his own spiral bound MS that was to go to N, I edited and will input those edits and then this will go into the keepsake bin (i have a lot of those, ONE DAY I’ll blog their contents because some of it is actually awesome, I’ll show you, one day, when I have time, KINDA busy right now)

And the copy intended for my husband, the first MS from Office Max?

UNREAD.

I mean, I get my husband works out several (like 30) hours per week, and he works like 25-30 hours as a barista, so he’s like somewhat busy…BUT OMFG THAT IS SO IRRITATING HE’S NOT EVEN READING IT. AFTER ALL OF THE BULLSHIT AND LITERALLY WASTING $35 ON A SECOND COPY SO HE COULD HAVE ONE, HE’S NOT READING IT.

I wish I was the “scream into a pillow” sort. But I smoke too much weed, I can’t scream unnecessarily.

I guess it was nice having a spiral bound copy to edit, because I actually enjoy editing on paper, MUCH more than on my laptop. So it was $35 well spent, in a way, but the second one….AHG. I can’t. NEITHER of them read their copy. Do you realize how sad and poetic and metaphorical this is for me? Like, okay…..OKAY, fucking tell me to breathe here…but…..THERE HAS NEVER been a man in my life is who didn’t DISAPPOINT THE FUCK out of me on a regular basis.

what the fuck

is that

supposed to mean?

Do the women? NOT NEARLY AS MUCH. My mom and my best friend are the ones that actually surprise me sometimes, even now. My Grandma is the ONLY reason I had even the semblance of normal shit in my childhood.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh

This was supposed to be complaining about one thing. Way to creepily become about some weird theme in my life like I planned it. SEE, if I’d tried to plan a blog like this, it would fall flat and I would go on a million different tangents only I find interesting and so on and so forth.

I should have gone to pole today, but I just didn’t. I could’ve scrounged the $20, but eh, I just don’t feel like working out that much. Just eh.

Anyway, I feel like I should take this as some sort of lesson. But. Should I? Am I just being a hugely self centered hyper critical bitch, because boyyyyy does that sound like me…… Who’s to know?

OFF TO EDIT THE MANUSCRIPT I PRINTED FOR MYSELF

This is what happens when I do something for someone other than Cassie. THIS is what they do when I try and like reach out and shit. THIS. BAH.

Happy fucking January, y’all

Brightside: days ARE getting longer…..wait that’s it

~Cassie

Bleh, or Unedited Stream of Consciousness Pt. 1

OKAY so, lies. I started the second chapter of Second Person, entitled Hair, but yeah…I don’t fucking have it in me to start getting into why the smell of dirty hair makes me gag. It’s not a natural squeamishness. You don’t work pet store retail for ten years and retain any sense of physical disgust. And while it feels SO wrong to leave yet another story open-ended…well, that’s where I’m at.

My husband is going to be MIA until Wednesday. He was also missing all weekend.

Call me a cunt because I’m mad my husband is volunteering for a very important mid-term election. But….do you remember? Remember her? Yeah. It’s still her. I will never not be convinced that he does this because fucking S is involved. I can’t remember if I gave her name, and I am NOT about to reread the blog I wrote when she was at my fucking house. That was….an interesting time…..

So yeah, strap in, this is about to me bitching hard about my husband.

In the sense that, I think one of the tenets of his OCD is to never EVER let go of anything, just…cling to shit that makes no sense….like….we got into one of our Top Ten worst fights because I threw out an old undershirt of his that I couldn’t bleach the stains out of. Like….he saw that I’d thrown it out…..lost his ever-loving mind, and decided going to a liquor store and buying a fifth of corn whiskey (why are details like that so easy to remember?) and chugging it on our balcony while LOUDLY bitching to his friend about me over the phone was the way to deal with the UNREAL stress of an old undershirt being thrown out. Of course, there was a bit more to the story. Isn’t there always? But it was the most I’ve ever hated him before our wedding night. Wait. Second most.

Let’s rank them:

Worst: Wedding Night
2nd place: When we went to MY coworkers party and he got SHIT FACED on Jameson and just….omg….made a drunken lunatic fool of himself at their apartment, like when he found out I wanted to go home because of how he was acting he bolted out the door, out the building, through the parking lot, wouldn’t get in the fucking car. Then when I finally convinced him to do so….that twenty minute car ride back to our apartment was like…..dude…….If I ever said anything like that to his overly sensitive ass….jesus he would’ve fucking killed himself. Then when I get home, he takes off again. Just runs out of my car. He disappeared for a few hours. I have no idea where he went or what he did. Neither does he. I remember, and will always remember, staring out the balcony door, wondering if he was going to get arrested (spoiler, we did NOT have bail $….do we EVER have money??) or pass out in the street and get run over. This was ALSO the night he shoved me through the closet door. Yeah.

Sometimes people, even ones you love, they do things that forever lower themselves in your estimation. Maybe I did that to him when I spent too much with with R. But you know what. All three of these things happened WAY before R came into the picture.

3rd place: Corn whiskey incident. I started smoking again after this one.

I remember one time, pretty recently, when we were rehashing what a terrible emotionally abusive thundercunt I am, I remember snapping, and for one instant, I was talking to him like I want to, not like I know I should. And I said, in a tone I do not usually use, “Well, you ruined our wedding night, and nothing is ever going to change that.” Then I just kept watching him.

That really was the worst disappointment of my life. Serves me right for having high hopes, right?

Gosh. I wonder what emotionally healthy people do when they’re upset.

I’m literally keeping a record of wrongs and ranking them.

This is not what together people do.

I’d imagine.

Well.

Speaking of my unideal habits.

I did it again.

I was upset about many things happening in my life but I figured trolling internet strangers for sex was the key to happiness.

I wish everyone who thinks extraneous sex is going to fix their shit could live as my husband and I do for a week. They would see, like all other things, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.

Because I mean. IDK. I guess it doesn’t damage one’s self esteem when you make a profile on a few different “come fuck me” apps and like…the offers/interest just pour in.

Like one dude even got to the point where I sent him my Kik. (so rare) But then….like he suggests we get drinks this Wednesday. I mean. That SOUNDS fun. But then, on Kik, the guy’s like “So what do you usually get to drink?”

And like.

Okay, it’s not that specific question.

It’s that this person doesn’t know me AT ALL. His interest is based off of my pictures and a short blurb. What’s the point in all of that?

Fucking is just a mechanical release we go through.

Because I, like many, conflated fucking and love from a young age. I’m not saying they’re mutually exclusive, but they are not automatically inclusive either. I taught my husband that.

But when I went from having regular good sex (at 18) to like…nothing, or worse than nothing guys that underperformed and weren’t open/cool about it, I noticed something. If I didn’t masturbate at least one a week I would start having sexual dreams. I’m not saying dreams where someone’s fucking, I mean dreams where I make myself come. Then you wake up and are like….ohhhhhhkay……It only ever happens when I haven’t bothered to masturbate in like two weeks. So, it hasn’t come up in like….a LONG time. Ever since I started writing CF as hard as I can.

Because, to be honest, when I write, especially when I dedicate a bunch of time to it, I kind of like…have to go get off every once in awhile.

Which I guess is a good sign. If your writing doesn’t turn YOU on, how is it going to do so for the rest of the world?

So. Today I deleted my slut apps (as I like to call them) and started wondering on what it would take for me to REALLY be into a guy.

For awhile, I formulated what the application would be like, if I could get guys applying for the position (ha, position).

I shall regale you with some of it:

Start:

1) What’s your Myers-Briggs type? (Skip Questions 2-3 if you know)
2) If your answer to Question 1 was “I don’t know,” are you willing to take the test? (Visit 13personalities.com and return)
3) If your answer to Question 2 was “No,” then we’re done here, have a great day.

4) What did you do your first summer after high school?

5) What fictional characters meant most to you as a child?
6) How many niche interests do you have? (This is not a trick question, I expect at least two)
7) What’s something you’re a snob about? The longer the answer the better.

8) What’s something that’s popular that you couldn’t give two fucks less about?

9) If it was guaranteed that you would always have work and afford to live comfortably, what job would you have?
10) How many books do you own?

11) How tall are you?
12) Describe your jawline in one sentence.
13) Liken your eye color to any every day object.
14) Describe your relationship with your parents using a meteorological metaphor.
15) How much and what kind of original creative work do you produce in a given month?

……Yeah, I’m hearing it. I want a male version of me. I GET IT. I GET IT I GET IT. If I could somehow move heaven and earth to make a male Cassie (what would his name be? Jackie? Is that close enough? Okay here on out, if I refer to Jackie, y’all better recall this blog) I fucking would.

Stupid Frankenstein. Giving me the idea that if someone wants to create badly enough they will. Albeit to HORRID consequences. But I can’t reread Frankenstein. It’ll never be like it was with Professor I want to fuck real bad from undergrad college. I was in college a loooong time, and it’s not often you come across a truly gifted instructor. He was. Among many other things. I still hold out some abstract, remote hope that that’ll happen one day. I know I told y’all the story of when I went to ask for my letter of recommendation, right? Oh lawd. This was NOT my imagination. Long story short, Professor Iwannafuck was trying to help me grasp what I would want to write about in my application letter for grad school, he said something along the lines of, “I would write that ‘I’ve always been interested in the beautiful, the exotic…the strange…’”
And….okay…..

The WAY he said those things. The way he looked at me when he said them….we both knew that he was talking about me.

Which…okay I don’t get where he got EXOTIC from….I’m literally from the town the university is within. But I mean. The other two. FOR SURE sound like me.

But, when he said that, I remember looking at him a little differently, like I changed my regard and probably smirked. And he turned red.

I embarrassed this guy without even speaking.

Ah, you should see the deviant smile I get when I relive this memory.

But alas, since then, aside from the professional email interactions we had re: grad school, the only time I’ve been brought to his attention was when I added him on Linked In.

I should’ve tried to fuck him back when, shouldn’t I? I mean these days adding someone on Linked In is basically giving them the wink. Or so I’ve been told.

So. I guess I’d rather work on CF and hold out for Professor I (let’s just call him that so he stops sound like a character in an old porno) than meet some rando who like is barely hot enough for me, let alone smart enough. SO few dudes are smart enough. Again. I get what I sound like. I can’t control it. It’s the real version of me that I so rarely let loose. Why would I? Do you think the real me is winning any friends? Is my life not indicative of the answer to that question? It sure as fuck should be.

I’m reminded of a scene from Seinfeld, a show I watched religiously as a child because we didn’t have cable (well, we had pirated cable on one TV, and W watched TV whenever he was awake…so….I didn’t have cable). There’s a scene where George Costanza snorts and says, “I don’t know that I’m pathetic?”

And really, I’ve never identified with something more.

Of course, GC is like the gross one of his group of friends. Do guys who look like that get laid that often? I mean, for me, I could see myself fucking any guy no matter what he looked like IF he met other qualifiers (1) being nice/awesome, 2) smelling good, 3) ability to make me laugh 4) $$ spent on me, okay I get this one is bad but I can’t control what turns me on, plus it’s my Grandma’s fault she taught me that means love, that and food)

But, at the same time, I feel the GC quote a little too much.

Because, IDK, most days I feel pretty pathetic, in a just a myriad of manners. Does that work? I feel like it doesn’t. Whatever.

I’m pathetically broke, always have been.

I married the first guy who didn’t treat me like total shit. That worked out, but holy fucking fuck shit that was NOT easy….

It’s like I have some disease that prevents me from maintain friendships. Like shingles, only socially. Ew I don’t know why I picked shingles.

But yeah. I mean. The pathetic state stems from the loneliness. That, no matter how smart and attractive you are….STILL no one wants anything to do with you…gee….you must be pretty fucking unlikable, Cassie. Why is it no matter WHERE you go, you just don’t fit in and no one bothers to give a fuck about you enough to get to know you?

This is just what’s going on in my head at any given moment.

What does one do with this sort of neediness?

The application is sort of for real, but also sort of a joke. Just in the sense that the guy I want is NOT the sort of guy who would fill out an online lets-fuck app. Least…I don’t think….see I say that because I know I wouldn’t fill one of those out, and let’s face it, I’ve known a long, long time I just want a male version of myself. I literally want a male Cassie.

Sigh. I don’t think that could possibly exist.

This has been one WEIRD post.

Thank god I still manage to be so into myself despite feeling I’m super pathetic as a human being.

Because I am.

Once my fucking damnable feelings get involved with anything, it’s like…lights out logic, I can hear you shrieking at me from the outskirts but yeah…sorry…YOU’RE not in control anymore….we’ll need you when the emotions crash out, like they do, to carry on the wreckage, as you always do.

And so on and so forth until I’ve just tired my mind out.

Do you think there’s enough words to make it better? To make it stop or go away? Or is that not the point?

See, I’ll do something without a point.

I’ll love someone who doesn’t deserve it. I’ll care when I should not fucking care.

I’ll convince myself I’m doing what I want, when I’m doing what I feel. Which are like never congruent.

I do know what I want.

That’s not the issue.

The issue is finding it.

And it is a person.

And also an it. Because it’s also a special situation/relationship with that person.

He’s got to be out there.

I guess I shouldn’t be allowed to want this “him” and my husband. I’m not at all ever intending to give up my current situation. I’ve invested too much at this point. Not starting over if I can help it. Plus. Love and other shit I don’t feel like discussing right now because I am in a WEIRD mood. Like drunk but not angry or horny….so like…what??? What is this? I don’t even think I have a word for it.

But still. There’s possibly some reason as to why other men still fascinate me. Some much more than others. You can tell how invested you are in something happening with someone by how disappointed you are when it doesn’t pan out. I’m like certain of this by this point in my life. D was fucking wonderful at that. I decided Doug should be reduced to D, because I don’t get why I didn’t give him a letter to begin with. He’s truly not special. He was fool enough not to lock me down when I was nineteen. God I was hot back then. You don’t even know, blog, you don’t even know. I’m hot now, but I was like…..fifty pounds lighter, if not more, back then….siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

Anyway

I guess I should get back to fixing my deep fuck up with CF.

I kind of ruined my second to last chapter and now I’m staring at plot holes, wondering how to Spackle them.

Anyway.

I hope this autumn evening finds you well. FUCKING VOTE TOMORROW.

~Cassie

Luck v. Persevereance

I’m lucky in so many odd ways. I have a great waistline and breast size, and nice lip/nipple color, and I’ve always had a magnanimous benefactress in my life (first my Grandma, then/now my mother in law), and I’ve been given two cars and three computers (1 desktop, 2 laptops, if you’re wondering) in my life. “Looks are an accident, Dr. Lecter.” “If comeliness were earned, you would still be beautiful.” My god I love Thomas Harris. He’s like my living Puzo. At least I think he’s alive.

I’m waiting for dinner. I’m done with CF for the day. My brain literally hurts right now, I can’t create any more eloquent word thoughts. I can’t. Seasonal allergy related sinus headaches can fuck right off.

How’s my life, in a few words?

I haven’t seen my pointless father or brother in four years. I haven’t seen my mom in the past year, but she and I email each other every day. I’m always torn between still loving my mom, and then being very much like “Lie in the bed you made, bitch.” towards her. She should’ve left my dad when the Bad Shit happened when I was 5. Like, it was the 90s, not the 30s, she could have fucking divorced him. So, no matter how sad hearing about her pathetic life makes me, I kind of don’t let it totally get to me, you know?

Coworker I wanted to fuck, back in the day, is leaving my department, at long last. He kind of offended me about two months ago (whenever Kamikaze came out, it was that very day) and I never got over it, I wrote a freaking huge blog about it and all….BUT, his super hot even younger brother now works in my department. It feels like a fucking porno. Like his little brother is so hot, it’s hard for me to look right at him when I’m talking to him. And before I sound like a disturbed pervert, his little brother is 23. So young but like…definitely legal. MMMMhmm. Anyway. Then of course there’s the other two guys at my work who I would fuck like yesterday. I added the one on Linked In, because I heard people use Linked In to hook up, but as of yet, nothing. 10/10 disappointment.

Something interesting is happening elsewhere, but it feels wrong mentioning just now, on here.

I’m on page 214 in CF. I have about 50 pages left to transcribe, then that bitch is like an actual, complete thing. Working on assembling more intelligent people to read it over before I pay a professional editor. It’s hard because like…who’s smart and trustworthy? That’s a rare fuckin’ combo.

Anyway. Oh yeah, my 12 year old cat Felix is diabetic, he was diagnosed last weekend. I have to give him insulin every 12 hours. It’s kind of annoying because I’m like “Cool, going on vacation just became a million times more complicated for us” but then I’m also like “Self, when the fuck is the last time you went on “vacation”?” IF Shakespeare Behind Bars counts, then that when we went last May, but still. Plus we get nervous leaving the plants for that long, to be honest.

Dinner is ready. Hope all is well. Keep strong and keep on, writing community. Write it first and do it for yourselves.

~Cassie

My life as I know it boils down to one activity, or thinking about one activity

I wrote this blog as a document on my lunch break because I don’t make time for blogging when I’m going full tilt with the writing:

It’s funny what this blog used to be, compared to its current use. I’m not one for ultimatums or resolutions, but I kind of realized, as much as I want to talk about the stuff I used to blog about, I only have so many words in me any given day. Am I really going to waste them talking about the ups and downs of my marriage, or even worse, about my pointlessly terrible childhood? Why? It’s distracting and I have other work that’s far greater (in many ways) and far more enjoyable (again in many ways).

So, where am I at with CF? I’m almost done transcribing the second draft, which I’m printing for my husband. When he’s done with his copy, I’ll edit it and turn the 2nd draft into a 3rd as I input those edits. Then, after 3 is saved, I MIGHT transcribe again. I basically want to transcribe twice, but I don’t want to do them too close together. I want to give my best friend her copy to read the next time I see her because I do not want to mail this shit. CERTAINLY am not into the idea of emailing it.

So, I near the end of second draft. When I hit like…idk five or six, I’ll probably be ready to pay the $3000 for a private editor. I actually don’t care about how much money I have to spend to publish. Truly I don’t. I mean, I’m in so much other debt (all from school, I’m not a secret shopping addict or anything) that like, who the fuck cares if there’s more? At least this way it would be over something that I care about, and would love to go into debt for.

Because, as much as we all want to fantasize about the day you can build a shipping container house complete with author’s turret (or whatever your personal writing goal is) that’s really not the point is it? We all want to be rich and famous. Whether we’re taught that as children, or if that’s the true, base desire of any red-blooded ‘murican is beyond me, but I feel like it’s presented as the ultimate expression of life as we know it. Well, not me. I just really want to be rich. The idea of being famous feels like it would be people paying attention to you all the time, in a way you don’t enjoy or want….yeah….that’s not my bag.

So, what are your writing fantasies? For the hundreds of hours we spend staring into computer screens, for the times we forced ourselves to write when we were tired, for the fragments of your soul you have to dust your work with, why are you doing it?

I have two phrases I like to look at. “Write it first.” and “Do it for you.”

Stay motivated, and remember why you’re motivated.

That’s all the advice I got. I’ll be back when I have a sweet picture of a new manuscript. Also I’ll be back in a week because I’m ridiculously proud of my Halloween costume for work. I’m going as Ms. Scarlet from Clue. It’s pretty hard to be the slutty character and stay HR appropriate. Let me tell you.

Peace

~Cassie