[Then I edited it sober, so this is all going to get a little bit crazy for you all. Sober Matt is kind of a dick, he ruins all the fun.]
[I assume that was a joke at the fact that I was drinking when I wrote this? You won't get one past me, drunk Matt. I am you. I know you. I love you. Please come home.]
Hey there, friends. I wanted to drop a Gallaetha update on y'all since you're here expecting fat jokes and disappointment. I analyse the data given to me by this site, apparently I make more hits when I'm mocking the fortunate fat (not the unfortunate fat, different cake and as one of them I've prolly already eaten it)
Anyway, Gallaetha update. Here it comes.
I failed at meeting the deadline I set myself.
There's no exsuse I can give really. Sorry.
Just to explain (kind of an excuse, but like, a fancy one); I wrote the 'end of March' deadline back when I was unemployed. Now, since that entry has come out and been vetted by sober Matt (that dick [he's a saint]) I have a job. A job I actually like and I'm actually good at, working for an organisation I've always respected. It's just confusing and surreal to me, because very few people have wanted to pay me for the past eighteen months.
I never honestly believed I'd ever have it this good. So you'd better believe I've been drinking pizzas and ordering boilermakers. Then the other way. Because I am a man employed, at last. And I can order sentences whichever way I want.
I'm working forty hours a week. It is so much easier than being unemployed and desperately trying to scrounge a self employment from book sales. There's a whole entry booked where I rail at the benefit system and how you Sun reading morons are trying to destroy it so you can feel better about giving more to those swan-fed aristocrats who own you. But that's another story and another time and I'm too drunk to tell it.
(I'm not. [I totally am])
My point is, I've just rediscovered paid work and it has taken a huge portion of my time. Especially with all the overtime they keep offering. Extra hours means extra money, and money is a thing I haven't seen in a long time. I just wanna enjoy it and the things it brings, and that requires a lot of hours.
I thought I could handle writing at my usual rate, and I did for a few weeks. For some weird reason, I live for writing. I still enjoy it even though I suck at it (16 book sales don't lie, I'm a wannabe, t'ain't no one gonna tell me different). I was squeezing 1000 words here and there, scribbling on a note pad, pretending to be Stephen King. You know how us indies do business.
Then my uncle died.
This wasn't just some little death in some distant reach of my family. This was my Uncle David, I'd been going to his house every Friday since I'd been a kid. It was a ritual that had sort of fallen off since I went to uni, but I've never been able to get food from a chippy without thinking of him. He was a guy that everybody loved. For good reason. He was the most easy going guy in the world.
I don't mean to eulogise, but I loved my uncle and I haven't really found another way to express it. A minute's silence, if it do ya.
See. It's kinda messed me up, because writing has always been my pleasure and I felt bad enjoying pleasure while I'm grieving. I still tried to sneak a few hundred words here and there, but every word felt like a betrayal. Not to mention how much work death actually is. It's physical, emotional and mental and I can't help my stupid brain from making a novel of it.
The point is, I've been preoccupied. I estimated my March deadline assuming my usual schedule. My usual schedule has been fucked and by the time I got it back on track it was already now. Hi.
The fortunate thing is that nobody is reading my books, so nobody will notive. The unfortunate thing is that if they ever were reading me then they've been turned off by now.
Don't get me wrong. Recently I've rediscovered my 1000 words a day and I'm working hard at increasing that every day. It's going to happen, maybe sooner than I think.
I just can't pin that to a date.
Let no mistakes be made. I'm back on my game, I have part three in a word file in the next window. I'm going to work until I pass out this weekend, then when it's done I'll give you a sneak peak of what's going to happen to Layla, Dominic, Brent and the rest.
If it doesn't, let me know in the comments and I will gladly get drunk and argue with you.