fume and fret. (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} feraldolce) wrote,@ 2009-02-24 16:14:00 |
|
Oh, baby.
Back and all that for a while now and blah blah blah, but I have to say that all my nerves are crackling. I just got off the phone with a potential client I may be working for in an editorial capacity. YOU LIKE THAT? It will be the first time the client is MINE and not the agency's or J's. I'm debating on how much to charge, since the only time I really freelanced was at $45/hr as a copywriter. That was fun. I still get tripped out looking at what I wrote for it since it's all professional and bullshit and just like you'd expect a car commercial to be.
This is the first day in like a month that I've been home for more than three hours... except I went out to lunch today, so I guess today doesn't count. Point being: I haven't had the time to write, and the outline for lb11 has been done since... the week after I updated? Like a month ago? NO TIME EVER! Too busy loving these crazy people I call my friends and doing grown up things like haul in $$$ and go to meetings and shit. And snagging my own clients. WOO, success feels like power feels like sex feels like gold. Add St. Nick to the mix and you have an afternoon of delights two shades darker than the sun at a fifty degree angle and fading fading.
Work in 30 minutes for like ever, then Ryan and his perfect fucking face, then possible dinner hangs, then sleep. OR WRITING. It depends. I can only write at home, right here. I don't do that café notebook shit. That park people watching blah fucking blah. I guess only real writers do that or something. I have been in that situation exactly once, and all I could focus on was what a horrible cliché it was.
AND OMG CAN'T STOP LISTENING TO LADY GAGA. I blame late nights and fast cars. And him and how I just have to look at him to feel the burn in my stomach like the world is ending. He likes to dance with me and I like to smile at him. He's part of this writing thing. I can't write when I'm happy, but I feel this obligation to the five people that actually read LB. I will totally try to update soon, and I'll try to make it less trite and less contrived than trying usually sounds. ALSO. I think I have an epic picture post coming up. Maybe. I have to see if the pictures that are stuffing my camera are usable or not. PROLLY NOT.
Omg. I'm so excited. It's a weird feeling. I've never actually felt this way before. I think it's called a good mood. OMG JK. See. See what I mean?
Back and all that for a while now and blah blah blah, but I have to say that all my nerves are crackling. I just got off the phone with a potential client I may be working for in an editorial capacity. YOU LIKE THAT? It will be the first time the client is MINE and not the agency's or J's. I'm debating on how much to charge, since the only time I really freelanced was at $45/hr as a copywriter. That was fun. I still get tripped out looking at what I wrote for it since it's all professional and bullshit and just like you'd expect a car commercial to be.
This is the first day in like a month that I've been home for more than three hours... except I went out to lunch today, so I guess today doesn't count. Point being: I haven't had the time to write, and the outline for lb11 has been done since... the week after I updated? Like a month ago? NO TIME EVER! Too busy loving these crazy people I call my friends and doing grown up things like haul in $$$ and go to meetings and shit. And snagging my own clients. WOO, success feels like power feels like sex feels like gold. Add St. Nick to the mix and you have an afternoon of delights two shades darker than the sun at a fifty degree angle and fading fading.
Work in 30 minutes for like ever, then Ryan and his perfect fucking face, then possible dinner hangs, then sleep. OR WRITING. It depends. I can only write at home, right here. I don't do that café notebook shit. That park people watching blah fucking blah. I guess only real writers do that or something. I have been in that situation exactly once, and all I could focus on was what a horrible cliché it was.
AND OMG CAN'T STOP LISTENING TO LADY GAGA. I blame late nights and fast cars. And him and how I just have to look at him to feel the burn in my stomach like the world is ending. He likes to dance with me and I like to smile at him. He's part of this writing thing. I can't write when I'm happy, but I feel this obligation to the five people that actually read LB. I will totally try to update soon, and I'll try to make it less trite and less contrived than trying usually sounds. ALSO. I think I have an epic picture post coming up. Maybe. I have to see if the pictures that are stuffing my camera are usable or not. PROLLY NOT.
Omg. I'm so excited. It's a weird feeling. I've never actually felt this way before. I think it's called a good mood. OMG JK. See. See what I mean?
