Zinnia Hope, author of multi-genres and erotic romances; also writing as J. Emberglass
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The chickens are hiding out from me. I've been on ...
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Thursday, October 5
My youngest is getting over sumac poisoning. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s about 10 times worse than poison ivy or poison oak. The next-to-the-youngest had two small patches, but he wouldn’t quit scratching, despite the calamine lotion, and then he’d play with the toddler without first washing his hands. Needless to say, he passed it to the baby. The toddler got it everywhere, so the doc had to put him on steroids to halt his body’s reaction to the sumac. What does this mean? It made the toddler meaner than a pissed off rattlesnake and caused insomnia in him and two sleepless nights for me and the husband. Thank God he took his last step-down dose today!
For the moment, the chickens are safe. They were the only stress relief I had during this time. But, the mailman’s a bit miffed at me. There’s a young rooster stuck in the mailbox. His poor little pecker’s wedged tight. (Oh, will you stop that! Sheesh, everyone’s minds are in the gutter today!) Anyway, Mr. Mail Guy wasn’t happy when he opened the mailbox to find a chicken’s ass staring back at him. His screech could have cleared a train station!
I’m sick of revisions. I have never been so tired of looking at a manuscript as I am Conspiracy of Angels. If it wasn’t for a signed contract and it coming out in print, I’d burn that sucker. (That’s an ess on the front of that word not an eff. I may be vocal, but let’s read it right... But that’s not saying I wasn’t thinking it while typing!) Not that it isn’t good, it’s just that I’ve polished, revised, polished, revised...until I could just puke if I have to open that Word file one more time.
The husband and I were discussing finances last night. This topic makes me want to hurl too. Raising six kids isn’t easy. (I’m a guardian for two, but the money for them is almost non-existent...long story.) The husband works his ass off at his day job. And the weather and watering didn’t do much for our gardens. Actually, we lost money this year. If I get a job, I’ll just hand my paycheck over to a babysitter for the younger kids (the older two have after-school activities) and what’s left would go into the gas tank to drive to and from work. So, I ask, what the hell’s the point of a minimum wage job?
And at this time of year, publishing houses and the big magazines are wrapping up their agendas for the year, so sales are slim, if at all, for an established freelancer like me. You can’t sell what the publication doesn’t have room for, ya know?
This all spells doom for Christmas. (((shudder))) I don’t even want to think about it!
Here chicky, chicky, chicky...