Twenty minutes till time to shoot out the door for the 7:15 ayem meet in Scottsdale. This post is gonna have to be short & fast, because there’ll be no time for blogging frolics between now and the middle of the night.
So, yes, off to the meeting, where thank God all I have to do is preside, not present.
Then shoot back here, part company with carpooling pal, and shoot out to Staples and Michael’s, there to buy supplies for my latest organizational scheme: another whiteboard, this one to keep track, on a monthly basis, of the book-marketing schemes.
Yesterday I got a start on a few of the several strategies that I’ll be trying out on Slave Labor, which as books go comes under the heading of “test run.” I hope to use Slave Labor as a device to learn as much as I can about producing, marketing, and selling self-published opuses, which with any luck can then be applied to the upcoming, better books, two of which I hope to put out shortly.
Then it’s back to the Funny Farm, here to shovel a three-month-old stack of paper off the desk.
Forgive me, Mammon, for I have sinned. I have not reconciled Your bank account statements for the past three or four months; I have not even looked at Your illustrious bills; I have refused to think about the pile of statements from Your engine of money production, Fidelity…
It is going to take the entire day to plow through that stuff. WonderAccountant has been importuning me to haul this stuff over to her and to set up a new billing system in QuickBooks. I’ve resisted personfully, but the work can’t be put off any longer. Student papers were graded yesterday, I’ve almost recovered from the last Adventure in Medical Science, and now I’m out of excuses: it is time.
Ugh.
And so {sigh} to work…
Image: Lightning Strike in 2007. fir0002. Flastafffotos.com.au.