I really, really, really need minions
In the last ten days or so I wrote two short stories (well, I say short — each story was about 10,000 words) for Evernight (yes, I’m submitting to their MF antho, and that bloody story fought me all the way down the pike. But dammit, I did the final edit this afternoon and sent “Grading the Curve” off, so that’s all good), did due diligence on PR and ran a blog tour for Storm Season, created a print version of my speculative fiction short story collection through CreateSpace (which included creating a print-acceptable interior, tweaking the cover so that it wouldn’t look muddy in print, and basically swearing to myself for a good six hours), shoveled nine bags of mulch onto my front flowerbeds, planted two Roses of Sharon on either end of the beds, planted impatiens and caladiums in the bed around the live oak out front, finished two pieces of jewelry for the Etsy store, made and sent off a bunch of Etsy sales, and kept the house surprisingly clean.
I still have to finish a short story (steampunk adventure for a change) for an editor who is patiently waiting for it, hammer up another Etsy sale, work on three websites for friends, edit and release two podcast episodes, snake out my pool cleaner pipe because it’s not sucking properly (hur hur), finish weeding my side flower bed, pull out these grassy plants that I hate and transplant the rose bushes currently there to a bed at the back of my house where they won’t get hammered with Texas sun all day long, transplant some lantana from THAT bed to the one along my garage, put drought-resistant plants in the side bed, clean my master bath so that I can paint the cabinets and finally be able to use the room properly five years after Ramón and I bought this place, finish Two to Tango and Iron Cross, and then I can finally start Breaker Zone.
I’m sure I’m forgetting something. Which is why I need minions. I’m starting to see the point of having children; sure, they require a lot of looking after when they’re little, but once they’re big enough to hold a paintbrush or run a vacuum, you’re golden. If my cats had opposable thumbs, I swear I’d teach them how to use social media.