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I will have this done by the end of the month. I will. I will meet deadlines with it. I will.
It will not turn into a treatment for a novel. It won't.
(it's about the relationships among some people in a high-unemployment, aging-population future. How do we manage an aging population with high unemployment? Overproduction and stagnation, of course. But it's not a bleak story at all, it's all full of squishy hope goodness)
It will not turn into a treatment for a novel. It won't.
(it's about the relationships among some people in a high-unemployment, aging-population future. How do we manage an aging population with high unemployment? Overproduction and stagnation, of course. But it's not a bleak story at all, it's all full of squishy hope goodness)
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It will not turn into a treatment for a novel. It won't.
Resistance is futile! she says, eyeing her own list of novels-to-write.
it's about the relationships among some people in a high-unemployment, aging-population future.
Oooo. Intriguing!
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And, this is the real thing: I'll never, probably, feel like spending 6 weeks away from my life and my sweetie, so Clarion won't happen, I don't think. But there's Potlatch. And Potlatch is stories. And it has a deadline. So this thing has to be a story and I have to finish it by January 31 or I'm a rotten egg.