1/07/2003

Arse. Got a call from work this morning just as I was ready to go in saying nothing's come in (ie stuff people want to get printed and that needs a computer guy to stick the disc in the Mac and see if it works or not etc), so no point in me turning up today. Which means my bank funds are, once again, rapidly dwindling.

Yes, it's time I got a full-time job. Too many of my favourite writers seem to be full-time University Professors writing in their spare time for me to kid myself I absolutely have to work part-time in order to get my writing done.

After all, I did manage to get a 140,000 word manuscript done last year, and perhaps trying to push part-time to two years is a bit much, after all. It's also partly because it's very boring, just sitting around; yes, I'm supposed to be writing, but most of it's sitting waiting for ideas to come to mind for ways to develop the plot outline for Against Gravity. That actually works better if I'm busy doing something else, something distracting. Like paid work. Plus, I get claustrophobic just sitting around the house.

Time to check the job ads in the papers, I think.
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