My car is officially out of commission even though it's technically driveable. The coolant leak is pretty fast and I don't want to be stuck in the middle of busy morning traffic with a non-functioning accelerator again.
That was hairy.
So I'm stealing my Beloved's landbarge for all my errand shenanigans. My car has an appointment in likely-early next week, and I was told to bring it in on Friday. It likely won't be fixed before Tuesday.
Ugh.
It's going to be expensive as hell, peeps.
Make no mistake, we can afford this, it's just... going to be real difficult for a patch.
Again.
I swear, there's some force in the universe that doesn't like me getting even the slightest bit ahead. I'll find out after Adapting is rejected literally everywhere, I guess. I mean. I don't have any other fully edited novels and... yeah.
Nothing else to sell, folks. Sigh. I need to sell big in order to afford an editor to go through everything else I've written in the intervening years, and I mean yikes, I write a lot.
A LOT.
You'd think someone with my output would be snapped up in a picosecond by whomever, but... nah. I don't know the right people, apparently. For every success story, there's someone with thousands of dollars to back it up in their friends-and-family circle. Especially in business. I'm pretty sure it holds true in writing as well. If I could meet/befriend the correct people...
Meh.
As long as you, my dear readers, share the love - I'm sure I'll be fine. Now I need some cheese to go with all this whine.
