September is moving at a snail’s pace, and it doesn’t help that I live in Texas, where the 95 degree days last until the end of October. September is brutal in Texas, because it’s the month when all the fall/autumn ad campaigns begin on TV–reminding we transplants of a time when seasons actually changed; what a wonderful thing seasons are. There’s no changing leaves here in Texas, no sweater weather, no crisp cool days, no smell of pies or cinnamon in the air. September is just another month of summer; I’m ready for summer to die, but it just won’t happen until Halloween weekend. Shit.
Notified about settlement from publishing company; they’ve given me a concrete date on when the check will be mailed out—but OMG, that money can’t get here fast enough. Whatever money is left over after our kitchen reno, will allow me a sizable savings—that should last until Mag is ready for college. I still can’t get over the size of the check, which makes my heart ache for comic writers that choose to separate professionally from the big company they work for. It can’t be an easy decision, not by a long shot—especially when the financials involved are good enough to make one tolerate just about anything, but I suppose if you get to the end of your rope—you MUST move on.
I’m actively searching for another job—one that doesn’t require micromanaging about how I talk to people, one that isn’t demanding more ‘referrals’ from me when I meet the required threshold, one that pays me what I’m worth in regard to the extra responsibilities I’ve taken on, and most important, one that gives me my Saturdays back. Sadly, the bank isn’t doing anything for me, but my awesome Manager accommodates me as much as she can. I also enjoy my co-workers, so it sucks that I’m so eager to leave the company–I don’t say anything in front of them because, that would be shitty.
I have to think of my creative health
My frustration with the company is so great, that when I come home it gnaws at me. The internal anger kills whatever spark there is to sit down and write—and man, do I have writing to do. Years’ worth of scene and dialog must be rewritten from scratch. I can’t keep this frustrating job, and resurrect my stories—I can’t. I think I’d be happier in a Joe-job; I had one in college and it was great. I’ve put out applications on job boards (naturally, companies looking for sales people have attacked like piranha) but I don’t need a receptionist job—delivering food works too. ^_^
I should be hearing back from the editor, regarding the first novel in the Femitokon series. Sort of nervous. I’ve yet to complete all the dialog for novel 2, have earmarked Hanukkah holiday to do it, but it’ll be interesting to see what she finds works and what doesn’t.
The boy went to his first con this weekend; it’s a Brony thing–and while he could care less about the theme, he’s there for his friend. He’s also there for my friend– Amelie Belcher is a guest, and he’ll be her drink and food runner, and he’ll be sitting at her table for panels and smoke breaks.