Lost some time this week. Got a couple hours of writing in on Wednesday, Thursday morning, but I had plans Thursday night that went until dawn, and a full day of things scheduled, not my things, until... five or six in the evening on Friday. After that, I pretty much passed out. Saturday was pretty full too, again with not my stuff, and though I thought I might get some work in that night, I opted to catch up with a friend instead.
I got my business cards in the mail during all this. Nothing special, just bare bones, Vistaprint special kind of things, but I've needed some forever, and too often have wound up jotting a bunch of contact information down on whatever was handy, which does not scream professionalism. I was pleased with the way my cards turned out, despite their simplicity, and my only real complaint was that the font was a little smaller than it appeared on the preview. It's readable though, and that's pretty much all that matters - of course, now that I have them, I imagine I won't be any place where I can make use of them anytime soon.
Haven't worked on anything too noteworthy in the past week. Mostly just toying with some memoir stuff, though I'm still not sure to what end. High school, early college have been on my mind a lot, lot of people I haven't seen anywhere other than Facebook cropping up in my dreams. I actually wrote a lot in high school, even though my heavy-handed poetry didn't always make it clear what I was writing about, so it's not hard to dig up a lot of old impressions of people, stories about them. I mean, yeah, some of the stuff about me is pretty mortifying, but it's still more palatable than ten minutes of "Glee."
Had an interesting conversation with a friend about how I use sex in the things I write. The funny thing, or maybe funny isn't the right word, is how often anything sexual I put in my stuff is either transactional, or tied in some way to death. Or some combination of both. I don't think there's much to say about the former - I feel like in those cases, what I'm doing is fairly straightforward. The latter is kind of embarrassing to me, I guess, not just because of any necrophilia jokes it might make way for. I think with sex and death, what I most commonly think of is that whole "after a funeral, the most common thing for people to do is go home and fuck" the idea being, I think, that it's some middle finger to death, by going out and doing that one thing that seems to prove that we're so alive. And I think there's validity to that, but I also think it's a bit of a cop-out to say it's all just some kind of "life affirmation bullshit," as my convo partner so succinctly put it. It also implies an order too, death, then sex, though I guess without sex we could have never gotten to the death part.
It's like moving two pieces of furniture around in the room. Trying to figure where they look just right.
I have a lot of email to catch up on. It feels a little ridiculous that I let that of all things get out of hand.
I also didn't have a book to work on reviewing last week. New one now. I don't like not having one in the queue - it seems like I get them fairly regularly, until I start talking about getting them fairly regularly.