I have many reasons to be irritated by my job, but here's one reason I like it:
Last night, we had dinner together at my bosses house, and though only about 10% of our employees showed up, I still got to hear Spanish, French, Japanese, Mandarin, and Cantonese spoken simultaneously around the dinner table. And because of my job, I understood what was being said (for the most part) in three of those languages. I'm not good enough to join in, but I could eavesdrop like a madwoman.
Four chapters left to write in the WIP. It's my best book yet. It's the one I wrote most fearlessly. I didn't let my internal editor whisper negative, soul-stealing critiques as I wrote. And you can kind of tell.
I had one kindly, sympathetic character show up in one of my most recent chapters, and her name just sort of popped into my head, and it's actually the first name of the agent in the number one position on my A list. Coincidence? I highly doubt it. Subliminal influences? Almost certainly.
What would you have done? - I chugged out of NYC on Friday to attend Malice Domestic, a lovely reader convention that is now the place I catch up with old friends, make new ones, and ...
7 hours ago