Monday Morning Shotgun Blues
Thought a lot about the self-publishing route this weekend. Eliminate all middlemen. The only fear there, and it is a huge fear, is that I won't make enough (no advance, mother fucker) to quit my job. I'm sure eventually I could sell enough, but self-publishing is a hard road to follow, and it is full of potholes. Again, however, cutting out the publishing house is very appealing, and it could be the wave of the future. Print on demand sure as hell is. Environmentally friendly, and it opens up niche markets.
By the time I'm done working on the manuscript, I realize I have this other job to go to. Usually I take some time to mentally prepare, but lately I've just said "fuck it" and have been far happier for it. That mindset continues. Serve my time. That's my mantra. Serve my time.
The sun came up. The promise of rain somehow forgotten by Mother Nature, who is an untamed bitch when it comes to these things. The only sun I truly look forward to is the sun on my daughter's soccer days and the Black Sun, which is perpetually giving off energy anyway regardless of whether or not you can see it.
Wanted to watch something before work to put me in a good mood, but I had no time for it. So I read a bit (Jitterbug Perfume if you must know) and then decided to hop on here and spew. Spewing, while perhaps unpleasant for the reader, keeps me from lobbing a grenade into a crowded showing of Julie & Julia.
My cell phone is dinging with the noise of multiple received texts. Arsenal has sent its usual allotment for the day, so this is probably work related. I chose to ignore that for now. Again, keeps the grenades at bay.
About ready to go serve my time. To quote The Clash, in its spectacular "Guns of Brixton," " The money feels good/And your life you like it well/But surely your time will come/
As in Heaven, as in Hell."
Monday Morning Shotgun Blues.