Database updated, some novel queries sent. Some more WRPA needs to be done, but doesn’t it always? I might do a bit more this week, but I simply gotta get back to turning out copy.
Since we have a moment here, however, allow me to amuse you with a small personal anecdote.
As I mentioned last week, I’ve recently returned from a trip to Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, and Phoenix. In Phoenix, I attended a family reunion, where I had the opportunity to hang out with aunts, uncles, and cousins I see far too seldom. My uncle Alan and I were catching up, and he asked me what I did for a living. I told him that my day job was in insurance, which it is. And without missing a beat, he said, “That doesn’t sound like you.”
Likes to speak his mind, does my uncle. It’s a Rotundo trait.
But I couldn’t argue with him. He had me dead to rights. And that made me a little contemplative.
Not that this was a revelation to me; the day job has always been about keeping a roof over my head, food on my table, money in the bank (or the 401K, as it were)—and nothing more. It’s never been my life’s ambition, and even my boss knows that. Nor am I about to chuck the day job; that would be damned irresponsible of me.
But still, to hear it put so bluntly . . . yeah. It’s not me.
I’m not sure what any of this means, really. Maybe it’s just a reminder from the universe that I need to get back to work.
All right, then. Thanks, universe. Message received. (And thanks, Uncle Alan.)
Write Club update: Tier one bounce from an agent on a novel query. Response time—one day. (Seriously, dude? You couldn’t at least allow me the satisfaction of having a query pending for a few days? Yeesh.)
And I’m out.
