31 December 2018

This time last year I set a goal of 2000 miles, either walking or biking, to beat the 1500 miles I did in 2017.

Oy.

Not only did I not hit 2000, I didn't even hit the 1500 I'd managed last year. The big difference was the lack of 3 Day training; if I'd done that, I'd likely have hit 1500, maybe a little more.

Now, I registered for the 2019 3 Day, but I honestly don't think I'll do it. Every time I get excited about it I go back and read what I'd written about the 2017--I was sure then that was my last one, for pretty good reasons.

So we might look for something else, another charity to jump into, one that doesn't culminate in 60 miles on foot over 3 days...and doesn't have such a high minimum. It's one thing to raise $2300 for one walker; with two, that minimum feels impossible and I don't think we could do it again. And I know my body won't hold up without some medicinal intervention, and I hate the idea.

My gut says to do a bike event; I could easily do the 60 miles over 3 days on the bike. I could do 100. I enjoy riding a hell of a lot more than walking. So...maybe.

Still, no matter what we decide as our big charity thing for 2019 (I'm still doing St. Baldrick's...gotta do that one) I'm setting another 2000 mile goal, and hopefully paying more attention to where I am every month. That might have been part of my failure to hit 2k--I didn't keep an eye on my mileage, so I didn't know when to kick it up a notch.

Other than that...no resolutions. There are things I want to get done, but those aren't things I consider to be resolutions. Just stuff that needs to get done or just happen. Eat better, be more active, purge all the accumulated crap around here that doesn't get used or doesn't make sense. Tear down the patio cover and get a new one.

If I win the lottery, we're totally renovating the bathrooms and getting new flooring. And a pool. Maybe skylights. The kids will get whatever they want for their house.

I should go out and buy a lottery ticket, eh?

Oh, and when I do win, I'm also opening Whispers, my bookstore/cafe/writer's haven, where anyone can come in and use a table, get something to eat or drink, and study/read/write/work...but they have to be quiet.

And there might be a bar attached. Maybe call it The Drunken Scribe, and anyone who lands a publishing contract gets free shots of Fireball.

Okay, so maybe my resolution for 2019 is to win the freaking lottery, because I have IDEAS, people.

Maybe not great ideas, but IDEAS.

25 December 2018

21 December 2018

The Indie Pub Panel is approaching, as I may have mentioned before; it's a small thing compared to most professional conferences, rarely more than 50 in attendance, and when I last checked only 12 people had signed up. I'm pretty sure there are more now (it's being held at Disneyland...they're gonna go just for the room discounts) but the first person to sign up is the first person who always signs up as soon as the dates are set.

Now, the last time I was there, said person instigated a bar fight with homophobic slurs and an implied threat, IIRC (I missed it. Dammit.) She should have been banned then, but money is money and she has money and supports the online group and has, honestly, kept it afloat. She's tolerated at best, when she asks for critiques of her work people do their best to be fair, but frankly--and if she sees this, oh well--she's not a nice person.

She's also very, very afraid of me.

I am everything she's internalized as being Very Very Scary. I have multiple, visible tattoos. Often I have pink hair. I've spoken about owning and riding motorcycles. I fit quite nicely into her neat little Box of Stereotypes, and she's admitted to other members of the forum that she's afraid to be alone in a room with me.

So of course, I was asked to front two panels: one on cover creation, and one on formatting print books using InDesign. She signed up before that tidbit was announced, and I was curious what would happen when she found out.

She found out.

This will be the first year since the beginning of the Indie Pub Panel that she does not attend. At all. Because of me.

That, boys and girls, is how badass I am.

Stop laughing.

Here's the real kicker. I'm not presenting those panels, after all. If she had waited just 3 days longer to withdraw, she would have learned that I wasn't comfortable with the cost being charged for what is, essentially, basic information easily available online, and instead promised to host an online Q&A for free. It worked out for the IPP overall, because it frees up a few hours for a trad-house editor who jumped in at the last minute to host an informal round-table with writers in the group.

[Why Thump, you were fired, weren't you? Tsk. No. I withdrew before they landed the editor. Swearsies. But I guarantee that's what my biggest superfan will try to tell everyone once she finds out.]

Gotta admit, I am impressed with the structure of the 2019 IPP. As promised, there's a dress code--no more shorts and t-shirts in anticipation of bugging out for the parks--and there are fees associated with each panel to stop people from bailing out and playing instead. It won't stop anyone from ditching, but they'll essentially be paying 2-3 times as much as they would have for that park admission.

But dang, peoples. I'm officially wicked super scary.

I might have to celebrate with new tattoos.