I’m totally bummed. My husband took the tall kid to see HP5, while I’m left behind with the short kid. Six feet from me lies HP7. But since it was the tall kid’s birthday gift, he gets to read it first. He’s had the damn thing 24 hours now, and he’s only halfway through it. If we hadn’t gotten him those damn Lego Star Wars sets, he’d be done and I’d be reading it right now.
And under the heading of random thoughts:
1. Everybody can’t go totally off their rockers at the same time. It’s ugly, people. WTF.
2. Unless the words New, York, Times, and Bestseller and/or Pulitzer and Prize and Winner appear on your covers, publicly declaring your superiority to your fellow authors makes you an asshole. Actually, even if all seven words appear on your covers, you’d still be an asshole. People just wouldn’t say it out loud.
I’m going to write now. A whole lot of people should consider doing the same.
Oh, no! It’s THERE and you can’t read it?! :bang:
Writing. Er. I’m getting an earful from my characters about all the things I’ve been doing wrong and what I should do to fix it. Does that count? :write:
It’s. Killing. Me.
He’s up in his room right now, and he’d better be reading it, dammit.
And yes, that counts. If not, we all write less than we think we do. :crazy:
Finished HP7 at one this morning. Would’ve been sooner, but I was busy staring at my new grandbaby earlier…
And once again, you hint at the trainwreck, but do you tell us where it is? No.
How rude. :tomato:
I tried grounding the tall kid. I told him no Legos, no PS2, no lunch, no nothing until he finishes the damn book.
No dice. I really wish my children feared me more. If he’s not done by tonight, I’m going to offer him money.
Yep. When all else fails, bribe the wee beasties.
Hey. This is HP7 we’re talkin’ about here. :cheesy: