After various administrative trials and tribulations, I gave my first class on Wednesday. 24 out of 25 unsuspecting students filed into a very small room on the fifth floor of the Leslie Building, and gave me expectant looks.
On 12 January, I finished my novella and submitted it. Cut that one dangerously fine. Despite the longer window for this call, I still only turned it in about three hours before the cut-off. I don’t know, that seems to be my modus operandi. I really struggled with this story. But best believe I made 1000% sure it was sent in the correct format. Never. Again.
It was somewhere between a social experiment and an existential crisis.
I’ve flirted with the idea of dating applications for a while, seeing as I am wholly terrible at, you know, flirting. But the idea of marketing myself like self-published ebook always made me cringe away from downloading Tinder.
I got a pro-market acceptance!
My posting has been *coughs* entirely lax in the past few months, so I thought a general update might absolve me.
So, since January, I have gone from the entirely manageable position of working for one fiction publication (sub-Q), to the somewhat alarming situation of working for four. In short: Continue reading
This evening I have decided to stretch my atrophied muscles of literary criticism. For funsies.
Also, for mild pissed-offsies.
I’m most of the way through The Last Wish, by Andrzej Saprowski (he of the unexpected missing vowels), having taken it out of the library this morning. I knew that these books served as the basis for the Witcher games, so I thought they must be pretty good, otherwise why invest money in spinoffs? The Last Wish also won the David Gemmell Legend Award, which sounds fancy.
But of course, I would probably not be writing a Feek post unless something had greatly offended my delicate feminine sensibilities. In short, the book is sexist and I haz angries.