These ungodly requirements are still no less awkward. Even after weeks of hounding by the Boss in the office, the horny housewives a certain sexually deranged pervert over the pond sent my way, and the Irish Sprite with her endless optimism, I still have nothing to add.
Progress on Gray?
Two chapters done… No, not even that. I have seven hundred pages of research notes compiled and from that I must break it down and select the most simplistic and rudimentary psychological babble, as Charlie calls it, in order to prevent losing the reader’s attention and from overly complicating and stalemating the story.
Isn’t that special?
Multiple degrees, a pioneer in my field, and yet I have to dumb it down.
That was scathing sarcasm, something I learned from Charlie.
I shall see you next month and will be complaining just as much then.