Introspection. One of my favorite poems is “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” by TS Eliot. It’s about getting older and despair, but it’s done in such a witty way that you have problems believing that it could be all that bad. I feel like I’m starting to sound like Prufrock, not in detail
Uncategorized
Books. Okay. After putting it off for a few years, I’ve finally started reading Dorothy Sayers. Maybe true bibliophiles will scoff at this, but reading her stuff gives me the pleasure of reading Sherlock Holmes combined with Jane Austin. Funny. Sayer’s biography sounds similar to Doyle’s in a few spots. Wrote things, didn’t become famous
Novel update. It’s going. I’m still working on the “clear-up-confusion” draft. My goal is to get that done by June. I haven’t covered much; the going seems even slower because I’m cutting so much crap out of the beginning that I’m on page twenty–but I’ve cut eight pages off the total. Other updates: Ray peed
More thumb-twiddling. I had my first interview for the other job today–the QC one. Again, no news. Funny. Way too many people applied for this job (versus the other one), so the guy weeded out people with questionnaires. One of the instructions on one of the questionnaires was to use a specific font, color, and

