Happy Hump Day.

Of course, there won’t actually be any physical humping…well, maybe there will be for you, but not for me. You know, I get why we call it ‘Hump Day’, but I think we’re so perverse it’s lost its actual meaning…  

Or, maybe that’s just me. 

ANY HOW.

 It’s Wednesday, half way there. Or, if you’re in Canada, you’re still glancing awkwardly at your calendar still nursing a hangover from your three day weekend celebratory debacle (contradiction of words here, but it’s the first that came to mind) trying to remember if it’s actually Tuesday, or Wednesday.

No point to this entry, as per usual. Writing for the sake of writing, because…well, isn’t that what writers are supposed to do? I’ve got Lana Del Rey’s deep, sultry voice in my ear, and the hum of my computer vibrating my desk. My tooth is hurting, which leads me to believe my filling may be falling out, or my retainer hates me more than I was fully aware of.

I’ve been twenty two for five days now, have listened to Lily Allen’s ’22′ half a dozen times – and I’m proud to report…I don’t feel any different. Neither older, nor younger. I’ve been advised that once I hit thirty, time just zips on by… I’m hoping by thirty I will have actually accomplished much of what it is I’ve set out to do. Then again, I think I’m off to a good start at my age.

I’m toying with an idea for a two part short story. I may revisit it after November Rain, and my untitled second project and make it a full length novel, or novella. But as of right now, I just want to work on something on the side so I don’t lose the velvety swing of my writing vernacular.

I think that’s about it for this entry, just wanted to say ‘yo.’ … Also, now that I’m looking at my homepage, I’m realizing how horrid it is. I need a new colour scheme…maybe grey…

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

A lazy writer.

A lazy writer, who? … Oh, wait.

Right, not so funny.

I’m not even sure how long it’s been, at least three weeks. And even so, I still had to physically remove myself from my house so I’d actually get some bloody work done. I go through spurts where I just find my room and it’s endless distractions, well…too distracting.

Gotta write it all, deadline hell!

I mean, my DS is just sitting there, saying: “Play me. Become the greatest Pokemon Master you’re destined to be.”

I like to humour my inner cowgirl sometimes, okay? Don’t judge me.

My Wii says, “You will be the greatest animal rancher and farmer to have ever conquered Waffle Town. Play me, you must.”

I, too, wish I could look that fabulous in arm warmers.

And then, there’s the team of Final Fantasy games taunting the ever loving God out of me. “Who else will save Spira? Will you let Sin win? Who will love Rinoa, the way you will? Who will wield the Gun Blade?”

So, as you can see, the distractions are bountiful. But this also seems to imply that going to a noisy Starbucks would rescue me from my…writing depression.

I’m not even sure if depression is the correct term to use, at this point. However, I should mention that as of late, the sinking feeling that comes trepidation laced when I realized the abundance of work I have to do, it makes me tug on my collar a bit. I don’t pride myself on being a lazy person, in fact, once I’ve decided on something – little stops me. I’d like to think it’s one of my more redeeming characteristics, in fact.

But it’s this editing and revising that is absolutely killing my buzz. No one said writing was easy, in fact, I think at one point I read an article by an author that advised would be writers, and want-to-be-novelists to find another career avenue. My only words for this individual are, “Go fuck yourself, madam. A novelist, I will be.”

That’s how I ended up escaping the ever loving clutches of my distracting bedroom, which up until now, has been a multi-purpose room. Bedroom, living room, office space.

Too. Many. Distractions.

It’s taken me a long while for whatever reason to get back in my groove. I had to take a step back and re-analyze my novel as whole.

Which leads me to my next series of points…

I am a control freak, by nature.

Now, I like to pretend that there is a very rational, biological reason for this. I mean, I am the eldest child in my family, I was also always the eldest child when I was in my grandmother’s care during the day, and am the eldest cousin of five. (four, not including myself.) It seems only natural that I’m bossy, often impudent, and unfortunately, sometimes – tyrannical.

This isn’t to say that I rule with an iron clad-fist, and I’m definitely no Cersei. But if I have my mind set on how things are supposed to be done, well…

I’d love to be able to mimic that ‘stank’ face.

You’d have better luck teaching a fish how to talk.

So, when it comes to writing, and having to work with a series of people to get your dream up from off of the ground, and running…well, you have to learn to nip certain habits and tendencies you long since thought you’d never have to forfeit.

Here’s the thing about working with a publicist – your control freak nature, the one I secretly felt proud of, the one that kept me warm at night thinking, “Ah, yes. Another battle conquered because I’m a stubborn fuck.” – yeah, those philosophies get tossed right out the fucking door. For lack of better words.

Your publicist, if s/he’s a good one, will challenge you. S/he’ll antagonize, poke and probe about your thought process, s/he’ll point out the flaws in your otherwise fool proof plan and give you the reality check that more times than not, you simply don’t want to hear.

On the flip side, they also act as your personal therapist, life coach, beta reader – and friend. Which in turn leads me back to my initial point pertaining to my latest struggle in my journey towards getting November Rain out in public: editing.

Editing may quickly replace my distaste for peas, and cauliflower. I hate it. It makes me want to throw myself out of an open window, immediately. I cringe when I look at my manuscript, or my numerous amount of post-it’s clustered together and pressed against the hard surface of my desk.

Editing is quite literally, the third wheel in the relationship between a novel, and its writer.

It’s proving to be extremely strenuous in trying to get my mind out of “I just want to write something new.” And focused on the reality that I’m in deadline hell, time is ticking, and I have 120,000 words to get through. It doesn’t help that my attention span often mimics that of a small child and I quickly find myself jotting down notes for my next project, or even the third project after that.

And frankly, being told I look stressed out is becoming a normality. That comment is often followed with, “Well, no one told you to be an overachiever at almost twenty two.” I can’t help it that I have illustrious ideas and notions of how I want my life to be, can I?

So, all of that being said, you now know what the hell I’ve been up to for the last few weeks. If I’m not quietly crying myself to sleep and praying to a based God for more time, I’m eye-fucking the hell out of my manuscript, while still trying to maintain some semblance of a social life. What this is proving to be, however, is an eye opening experience. Can I tell you how much more I appreciate the books I’ve read, even the ones I haven’t read yet that are collecting dust on my bookshelf.

Being a writer is HARD, but you know what? All of this is only reaffirming to me that this is precisely what I want to do with my life. There is nothing else I’d rather do, nothing else I’d rather stress or strive for.

And as cliché as it’ll sound, Marshall Bruce Mathers III said it best: “Success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not.”

This poem is gruff, I won’t try to bluff.
But throw me bone, and I’ll continue to
moan, about how tough being a writer, can be.

I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else than this.
I imagine a life, full of great bliss.
Of satisfaction, from all of my provocative actions,
So one day I will have the ultimate satisfaction —

I’ve given up what free time I have to do something I love,
So it rids me of my communal slime, it’s not all that rough –

I’m fleeing away now, my attempts at poetry were futile
I’m a novelist after all, and I find my poetry quite vile.

Just so we’re clear, y’all…I ain’t ignoring you.

My bitch ass is just in ‘fuck, I have so much shit to get done’ mode. Which in other words, translates to, my second deadline is in officially 8 days and the end does not appear to be near.

My first bout of edits have been far from seamless, nor are they just straight edits. They’re what I’ve dubbed ‘soft’ edits, because my main focus presently, is to add in more content. I’m forced to go into this with the eye of a reader, versus a writer. Force to subtract myself from the book, which is my equivalent of a child, and think about all the things that I would consider if I were a reader.

Did I fill in all my plot holes?

Did I leave anything open ended?

Did I remember to conclude certain issues?

And let me tell you, with one major plotline, along with three smaller sub-plots, that isn’t always an easy task. It requires a great amount of thought, and mulling. Then comes the plotting, and where to place it. A lot of mapping, and finally, the actual writing. No one said this was going to be easy, and to be frank, I’m slightly content that it isn’t. I like the challenge, I like the way this entire adventure is toying with different variations of my emotions. It’s nice to remind myself I’m still human, and that there are half a dozen ways to feel annoyed, angry, upset, happy, etc.

So, again, I’m not ignoring my site, just super busy. To the point that I spent a good portion of my day yesterday wondering why I couldn’t get more done. It wasn’t until my friend Jody, sent out a section of his new project (And second book. Check out his first novel ‘Convergence’) and he made mention of using me as an example of work-work-life balance, that I was forced to realize…

I do a lot.

A lot.

Having it put into so many few words that were as black and white as possible, made me consider that perhaps, I had been short selling myself, and maybe I shouldn’t be nearly as critical when it comes to myself as I have been.

But I’m a perfectionist by nature, not by choice, so, I’m not certain I’ll ever be 100% content with my ability to time manage myself or balance my life. I’m either too overly invested in something, or I’m not invested at all. And as I’m sure some of my friends would happily admit on my behalf, I can become a social shut-in very quickly when it comes to trying to meet a deadline.

That being said, trying to establish ‘A.L. Woods’ as a brand in its entirety, whilst working on November Rain, taking notes for my other working projects, and trying to keep my head attached my neck is really what’s keeping me busy these days. The only other thing that I’m being adamant about sticking to is my daily hour-hour and a half of reading every night. It’s nice to get submersed into other people’s words, to watch the words of others, come to life for me on a page. It offers some sort of validation for all my efforts, that I too, can get to that point. (I’m nearing the end of J.R Ward’s, ‘Lover At Last’ and I’m devastated. I don’t want to have to wait another year for more of my Brotherhood. Wah!)

Although, in a perfect world, I would be able to live up to Stephen King’s suggestions of eight hours of writing work, to six hours of reading.

Some day, Mr. King. Some day.

Anyhow, I’m still in desperate need of a Day Timer/Agenda of some sort because my version of time management isn’t working for me…Then again, I like seeing things in black and white. Despite having an iPhone, it doesn’t keep me as in check as I would like to be.

I’m rambling now, however. This was merely a quick-hello that’s gone on for far too long. I’ll try to be more prompt with my update next week, but no promises.

If I don’t post after the 30^th, be aware that I’ve been assassinated by either my publicist, cover artist, or soon to be, third beta-reader.

I fare thee well, my friends.

“This hoe ain’t gonna write an entry this week.” And technically, you’re right. I did miss the cut off last week for an entry.

I’ve just been busy being a responsible adult, or whatever. No, seriously: I had a presentation that I could have given less of a fuck about. It was really challenging my “Jedi Master of Bullshit” skills.

Yoda, himself, is giving me a patronizing stare of disapproval. Can’t say I blame him, either.

Any-whoo, moving along. I haven’t got a concise clue which direction this entry is going to go, and it may very well be an entry centered entirely on my jargon. I know much you all love that.

So, we know I had an assignment this week, or last, I should say. What else did I do last week that wasn’t editing, revising, or singing ‘Killing Me Softly(with his song)’ while I feel sorry for myself…Friday night lead to late night adventuring to the good ol’ T-Dot (Toronto, for you non-Canadian’s) to try out the 24 hour diner, which was featured on Diner’s, Drive-In’s, and Dives: The Lakeview Restaurant.

Guy stamp of approval.

Literal Apple Pie Milkshakes, Cornflake encrusted sandwich makings, and deep fried pickles. Do not underestimate my love for pickles. I love my friends, and I love the fact that they force me out when I’m at war with my Devil uterus, combating it with one too many Advil’s, and my best friend’s belly-rub’s. Seriously, greatest woman, EVER.

Crawling into bed at 3:30 in the morning, only to be up at 9 to get my lazy ass to ServiceOntario to renew my license and do my sticker. Here’s to hoping that I won’t look deranged in this photo given I won’t be replacing it until I’m twenty seven. I cannot deal with another sparse eyebrow-ed, angst-y looking photo for another five years. I just can’t…

From there I met a good friend of mine for coffee, which in turn, lead us to the mall where I purchased a remarkable scarf and a cute coral pink dress. Not that I needed either or, but fighting my internal hedonist didn’t seem like a good idea, either.

Returning home, I parked my ass at my desk with the intentions of writing, until the heavy pitter-patter of children’s feet against thin floors, and deeply-base induced Reggaeton from my neighbours next door picked up. I can’t win, sometimes.

Food, and sleep came…and alas, here we are. I wrote all of fifty seven words for a new scene to add in, I have a deadline to meet in less than sixteen days, and I’m kind of freaking-the-fuck-OUT. Maybe if I wasn’t wasting time writing this entry, and thinking about tea, I might actually finish something. But, writing on a blog is really there with the intentions to stimulate the sleep-muted writer in me. I was prematurely woken up, after all…then again, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing as I don’t appreciate copious amounts of sleep.

In other, somewhat writing-related news… According to Manda has been renewed, and a new domain has been purchased. New domain/site is strictly ‘professional’ … for further details, go here. Other details to follow at a later date.

I was going to continue to babble some more, but I’ve just taken a quick glance at the clock and noted that it’s twenty to three and I’m still at fifty seven words and nearing closer to the my own imminent demise if I don’t finish my edits.

Tata for now. Time to get into the psyche of a robust, balding, fifty something year old chief of police with a bad attitude, and a great love for scotch.

Lucy here, had the right idea.

There’s this funny thing that transpires when it comes to giving advice to your best friends. See, the average person gives relatively simple, idiot-proof advice: nothing overly complex, it’s usually approached with a “good” or “bad” outcome. Now, if you’re anything like myself, you find yourself leaning back in your seat at Starbucks, absorbing the words coming out of your friends’ mouth. You find yourself painting the picture, then proceeding to dissect it like it’s grade eleven biology class all over again.

One of two things will occur: You’ll give really well thought advice and you’ll part ways afterwards, feeling a little bit better about yourself and your knack for advice giving. Hell, you may even flatter yourself by giving yourself a slow pat on the back for a job well done. Or, you’ll give the advice, listen to the advice, and realize: for fuck sakes, this is applicable to myself.

So, if that’s the case — why can’t I seem to take it?

Here’s the thing: I am so good at procrastinating and excuse making, that it’s believable. Now when I say believable, I mean believable, only the bravest of fools would dare challenge me. For the last month and a bit or so, I’ve told myself that the transition into my new contractual job role has made me completely devoid of any will power, strength or energy I had to invest into November Rain. A book in which I had initially approached and conquered with absolutely zero room for mental hindrances to occur.

That’s a lot of hopefully fresh milk. (Image courtesy of Tumblr.)

As of late, however, I’d come home, laze in bed and feel sorry for myself. I would look up at my vision board depicting all the well thought out plans and ideas I had for myself, with a scowl on my face. It all seemed so far away; suddenly, the optimist I had grown to love, had turned into a bad bag of curdled milk – sour.

See, the thing about giving ‘good’ advice, is that it requires you to actually listen to what it is you’re saying. To listen to the message that you’re trying to convey and deliver. One of my best friends and I, despite us being on different spectrum’s  really aren’t/weren’t that different. Of course, our situations differ vastly, but our approach to conquer the situation require the same meticulous and deliberate planning.

They require us both to get off of our lazy asses and start doing something about it. They require us to stop enabling ourselves into believing that we’re too tired to change it. Why is it the behaviour that I would never condone from any of my friends, I had allowed to condone for myself? When did I allow myself to become this stagnant and to lose my zest and thrill for life?

When did I let a necessary evil, a job no-less, dictate who I was and wasn’t about to become? What I ultimately failed to realize in these last four weeks, was that I was controlling how much power I was giving my present circumstances. I am the keeper to my destiny and future, yet I often find myself losing sight of that. Letting myself follow the line of ants, despite knowing that I am a caterpillar. How dare I deny myself the chance to be who I deserve to be.

Deny.  How often do we deny ourselves a chance to flourish? I talk a lot about dreams and how avidly we dreamed as children. How fearless we were, how nothing in hell could have stopped us from believing that we too would walk across the moon, that we too would go on to paint great landscapes, or write the great ‘American’ novel. I don’t know where the broken link is, where it is that we learn to lose sight of ourselves, I’m not sure I ever will – the point is that we do and it’s about high-time we gained that back.

It’s time that I took accountability for myself and what I’m responsible for. I will lead the life that I want by choice, a choice that I’m making for myself; not because anyone else made the choice for me. Choices are not very simple, but we have so many of them – yet we’re willing to forego it all to be safe and comfortable. Comfort and safety never got anyone anywhere, being a risk taker, taking chances, doing things that scared us – that got us somewhere. And if it doesn’t, at least we got a really good story out of it.  We cannot have peace, if we are not willing to fight the war that is our fear.

I’m a writer, my life is supposed to be filled to the brim by life experiences and risk-taking: how else do I expect to project believable emotions into print, if I can’t let myself feel things in colour?

A few posts back, I mentioned that I was in the midst of revamping my “office.” My office, in actuality, was just a corner of my room that looked like this:

What a disaster.

As you can see, total clusterfuck of distractions and all those other wonderful things. In truth, I found the space…well, non-functional. As someone with the attention span of a small child, I can’t help but get sidetracked by a clutter of paperwork, and a lack of space to sprawl out my writing materials when I do smarten up and decide to work.

That being said, I was starting to think that perhaps the lack of functional working space was starting to seep into my work. (Or maybe that’s just another one of my elaborate excuses in my head. The Queen of Procrastination, at your service. *slow curtsy*) By that I mean, that it was starting to smother my ability to stay focused and treat this with the same professionalism I started with.

That really is probably an excuse I’ve devised in my head, but let me see if there’s any remaining merit left in my train of thought, here.

The land of difficult to assemble furniture.

I took a trip down to my happy place, in a desperate pursuit for some new furniture and other organizing utilities…or things to amplify the space….or stuff…stuff and things. (I’ll try to leave The Walking Dead references out of this. Try being the operative word here. ) Given that I had to be mindful of having two separate work spaces to be mindful of –  I needed two desks. IKEA is a great place to furniture hunt if you’re on a tight budget, and I managed to get two desks for under $100.00 all together. (That doesn’t mean that’s all that I bought, but we won’t get into that.)

You’ve seen the before, now may I present to you…the after:

I quite like this.

Ample shelving space, front and back. For storing my paper trays, along with some writing reference books below.

All and all, I’m quite pleased with how the renovation turned out. Still taking some adjustment getting used to being on the opposite side of my bedroom, but the change of scenery should hopefully pump in an influx of new writing juices that seem to have temporarily escaped me these days.

In other, non-writing/non-workspace revamping news, tonight is the season finale of The Walking Dead, along with the season premier of Game of Thrones. Which means, I am almost 100% sure I’ll be going into GoT still sobbing hysterically over the season finale of TWD. I just can’t have my cake and eat it too, now can I?

Have a wonderful Easter, my little chocolate bunnies, and a marvelous week. Time to go have a coffee that I’m clearly in desperate need of. Don’t eat too much chocolate!

You better eat a lot of chocolate, or I’m going to be pissed. 

P.S: Huge thanks to my mom for assembling the furniture for my assembly challenged self.

That’s not going to be funny unless you get my rip-off of the whole “hoodrat” thing…no? Forget about it, it was a lot funnier in my head. 

It’s Monday. I don’t like Monday’s. I don’t know anyone who can tell me with full confidence that they like Monday’s and the day that I do meet someone who tells me they like Monday’s, is the day I go to jail for murder.

…Well, that might be slightly melodramatic…we’ll see. Ask me after five.

This is a shortened week courtesy of Good Friday…I’ll spare everyone from my religious puns and the like as I’m sure someone would scold and try to crucify me for that one.

I’m sorry, that one kind of slipped out. My fingers got ahead of me, as per usual.

So, shortened week aside: I’ve done absolutely no editing in the last four days, or so. I did manage to finish writing a scene…which probably still needs to be fattened up. But, one scene of six down. Then the real ‘fun’ part begins. (Not really though, in all honesty – I feel like Katie in Paranormal Activity being dragged from her bed. Only I’m screaming ‘you can’t make me do my re-writes, you can’t! You can’t!) Needless to say, I’d be an agent’s worst nightmare perfectly wrapped in a little brunette bottle.

My other ‘conquest’ would be the fact that a fantasy idea that came to me around this time last year, has been eating away at me for the last six weeks, or so. Now, initially I had a game plan established in my head. A sequence of release dates, book wise – if you will. It looked a little something like this:

November Rain – September 2013 (Release date)
Presently Untitled – Start working in late September/Early October 2013, be ready for March/April 2014.

Which at that point, would bring me to my ‘major’ project – something I’ve never done before: a fantasy trilogy. The planning and project development of that would have started after my second book, with hopes that the actual writing would commence in the summer of 2014. But, with the ideas coming at me faster than I can write down, I feel like my hands are presently tied. And unless I plan on becoming a complete and total social-shut in, full time hermit and risk having my friends come after me with pitchforks for completely ignoring them… I really can only commit to one project at a time.

Slave driver.

(Unless they choose to be my slave driver – I’m looking at you, Ham.)

My underlying problem too, would be the fact that the second book follows the same pattern of November Rain, different genres, but similar writing styles. Whereas, the fantasy, completely deviates from my normal writing style and would completely submerse me into a realm vastly different of my own. (I’m having way too much fun developing new countries and laws.) There’s a lot more leg work involved in the trilogy, so it really is only practical to do it as the third, fourth, and fifth book I write. It makes sense. In my head, I know it makes sense.

I think I’m just desperate to do something else for a while. Not that my deadlines would ever permit such a thing. Maybe, maybe I’m just in a temporary funk…or maybe, this is my way of denying that November Rain; an idea I coddled and worked with for nearly three years, is drawing to an end. Of course, it won’t really be over until I’m comfortably inebriated at my book launch party… the bones of the story however, are set. It’s a matter of adding content now, and the edits…the never ending EDITS.

I’m rambling now, hard at that. I should stop while I’m ahead.

No, wait. Few final notes.

1. Who watched last night’s episode of The Walking Dead? Can you say, ‘OMG.’ (I’m not going to spoil it for those who haven’t seen it, yet. That’s not what this post is about.)
2. IKEA furniture should come pre-assembled. Or, I need to bribe someone to assemble it for me.
3. I finished watching The Vision of Escaflowne last night…and twelve years later, I’m STILL pissed off that Hitomi goes back to earth. Bitch.
4. I feel like ass right now.
5. Oz, The Great & Powerful was a mediocre movie.
6. I’m terribly, terribly excited for a long weekend.
7. I’m running out of points, but I hate odd numbers.
8. I celebrated Earth Hour, like the good environmentally aware person that I am…we then proceeded to smoke up one of my best friend’s bedroom with a wonky candle. Oops.
   

   We love Earth Hour!

9. Mrs. Lovett has a piiiiiie shop.
10. I’m out, deuces. Peace, dawgs. It’s been a slice, see you in a week. Maybe sooner if I can’t commit to working on November Rain, again.

P.S: I want to play video games.

Gotta write it all, gotta write it all.

For whatever reason, I have Truly, Madly, Deeply stuck in my head. It’s not completely unusual for me to wake up with a song stuck in my head…although, my favourite occurrence has been when I woke up with the Pokerap in my head.(Charmeleon, Wartortle. Mewtwo, Tentracruel, Aerodactyl. Omanyte, Slowpoke, Pidgeot, Arbok – That’s all, folks!)  (Gotta catch ‘em all, gotta catch ‘em all.)

Right then, back to behaving like an almost twenty two year old…

It’s Tuesday. I’ve decided today is more like… Brussels sprouts. Which I definitely do not like…or maybe peas…maybe I’ll reserve peas for Thursday… I really do not like peas

I’m having some…slight commitment issues. Maybe that’s too harsh of a statement, but now that my beta-readers are done with November Rain, and I have revisions, edits, and scenes to add in before I start scouting an editor…well…my mind wants to wander elsewhere and work on a different project. I’m itching to start plotting out a fantasy idea that I really had no intentions of starting until 2014 (I have another book I’ve already done a great deal of development for so far, that I want to start in September/October of this year.)

I don’t know if this actually counts as a commitment issue…or an over active imagination that’s getting ahead of me. I think of my imagination a lot like an overly excited Labrador puppy that I can’t get to calm down. The more I tell it to settle down, the more eagerly it jumps and barks at me.

Either way, I know I need to stop putting off my edits and scene rewrites. One can only hide between her sheets with her laptop and Vision of Escaflowne for so long… eventually, the writer must push her distractions and reasons to procrastinate aside, so she can get focused.

Then again… finishing November Rain to begin with, was a huge epiphany-like moment for me. It made me realize that when I do commit/buckle down, I can do anything. Finishing the rough draft to that book was imperative for my development not only as a writer, but as a human being. I think we doubt ourselves more times than not, even if just subconsciously.

With March drawing to a close next week, my mental vacation is concluding. Time to get serious again – and fast.

Gotta catch ‘em all, writing on! (I tried. That one’s going to need some work.)

Our relationship is rather complex.

I haven’t decided how I feel about Tuesdays. In fact, Tuesdays may be in the same category as cauliflower for me – it’s just there. I neither love it, nor hate it. Unlike it’s enemy, Thursday, which I outright despise. Thursdays are the metaphorical cock tease that is Friday. It taunts you by dragging on, the time crawling by, and all you’re forced to do is struggle against the masses in hunt for our beloved 5pm.

…The fact that I’m going on a borderline tangent about weekday’s leads me to believe my thought process is at an all-time critical low. Or, I just need another cup of coffee. Thinking the latter, here.

Sunday night’s episode of The Walking Dead was exciting as it’s starting to set the foundation for what is going to be a deadly fight between two fighting forces. Rick’s integrity is being tested, as he is forced to consider the proposition the Governor has offered him. He posed the question to Hershel, about whether or not he’d be willing to sacrifice his girls on Michonne’s behalf, before the camera panned out. I’m confident that Michonne has proven that she can “help her keep” as Hershel kindly put it; I think Rick is just emotionally spent, too tired to make the ultimate call – and frankly, I can’t say I blame him.

However, I do also feel strongly that his run in with Morgan last week was imperative. He could have gone one of two ways – he could be the tyrannical monstrosity that the Governor has become… or he could be so close to the break of insanity, so close to the edge; in search of repentance – Morgan. Slowly, I think he’s being pulled back to a *happy* medium of sorts, and the group still responds to him. Clearly, still willing to grandfather in his part as leader and continuing to keep abolished the democracy that had once formally existed among them, almost two seasons ago.

The final episodes are certain to keep us on the edge of our seats, and I’ll be crushed when I’m forced to wait until October to have it start up again.

Moving on – if you look to your right, you’ll see that the release date for ‘November Rain’ has changed. Actually, initially, that was a completion date which in turn I thought could be a release date…but the amount of work, and TLC it deserves…it’s not a process I want to rush. I rush through enough things in my life…coffee drinking, burrito eating, just to name a few. But not this…this is my offspring, if you will. And no one would boot their offspring out of the nest well before it’s ready. (Unless of course they need a good ass kicking…you know what I mean.) Success is the only option here .

That being said, I’ve already begun the preliminary work that’s involved. Establishing meetings with my ‘team.’ And taking notes based on their suggestions and comments, the process if proving to be truly enlightening and an experience I will continue to effectively use with my next projects.

I’m in a really good place with my writing, and I’m happy where it’s all heading. The journey is long and hard, but as I always say, nothing worth doing is easy.

Side note: I’m in the midst of reconstructing my ‘office’ space in my room, so hopefully… the next time I post, it’ll be some before and after pictures and commentary centered around “How you too can also get your work space looking this FTD!” …I’ll never let those words escape my fingertips again.