Mom and I went to Target to get my glasses fixed today. Unfortunately, we were also both starving. We got so much food...oh man. It was great. Like, an entire freaking cart full. We just walked through the aisles and were like, "Hmm, this looks yummy" and tossed it in the cart. We were walking through the frozen foods, and I was around the corner looking at the seafood when I hear my mom say "Hey, do you want Star Trek waffles?" I was like, "WHAT?! OHMIGOD!" and bolted around the corner to see what she was talking about. Sure enough, there were waffles with imprints of Kirk and Spock on them. Mom and I dubbed them Spoffles. We bought some. I don't even like waffles. We also got macaroni and cheese in Pokemon shapes. I love shopping with my mom.
Last night, and by extension today, I have been worrying about the sheer volume of sex in my NaNo. I mean, the entire plot is based around a brothel. Oh, I am so doomed. On the bright side, when this is all over with, I will be able to make a living writing smutty, plotless romance novels. Not that I would resort to such a lowly use of my craft, but it's nice to know it's an option. Because it's hard to make a living as an author. You know what the difference between a writer and a park bench is? A park bench can support an entire family.
So Sarah said I should practice before November. Practice with what?! I daren't start another story. Bad, bad things will happen if I dig out Patroclus and Achilles. And my twins are not cooperating. And Cesare and Chiaro are just being mean. Chiaro winks and sips wine and Cesare smirks. Pout pout. What's a poor little writer to do? Ah me. At least my dear twins will be back soon. Polydeuces and Castor, brothers of Helen of Troy, Gemini, my twin muses and favorite subjects. In short, another historical rant just waiting to happen. In another month, Gemini will rise and hopefully my inspiration along with it.
I find it amusing and not a little ironic that my muses return in November. Coincidence? I think not.
As is I haven't written in ages, and Sarah suggests I beat them into submission. I agree. Not that submission is in their vocabulary. They are Spartans, you know.
26 days until doom.
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