Ok, to all those of you who wrote me and said, "Your first-draft reader is a meany, saying your writing has no soul. You need a new first-draft reader who won't say such nasty things to you. Why not me? I'll be your first-draft reader!" And you know who you are.

My writing is not the best thing to ever hit paper. Trust me. Just look through a few of these blog entries. I really need a first-draft reader who will tell me honestly when it sucks. One of the good things about my current one is that they can communicate well enough to say exactly how it sucks. That means I can make an attempt at fixing it. I think in this particular case the rewritten scene is much stronger -- tense even. Just because I went back thinking I needed to inject some more soul. (another good comment.... "It's chapter 50, Wendy. It's ok to let out a few secrets.")

So I had hoped to take the day off today. Instead, I was at work till 9pm and I'm now planning to go in tomorrow (that's a Saturday for those of you keeping track) in the afternoon. Not exactly how I had planned the weekend.

I didn't post last night because it was my birthday-eve and I didn't feel like it. So there.

Sarah was a total sweetie and got me a great birthday present. It contained several items, including chocolate, popping eyeballs and a fez. All of them intended to be used at work. Do we see a theme here? I didn't think that was how my life was supposed to turn out. Somebody needs to go set the seven-year-old Wendy straight. (I'm not living on a spacestation, being a backcountry guide, world-famous scientist, or even an elf queen. Where did it all go wrong?)