Funny about Money

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. ―Edmund Burke

What Have I (not) Done?

I have not cared for my neighbors as I would have them care for me. Oh, Hell. I have not cared for myself as I should have cared for my neighbors.

I have not established a presence on Goodreads, for the 87 gerjillionth day since I said I would do so.
I have not prepared the February books to publish.
I have not written this blog post.
I have not shopped 30 Pounds/4 Months around locally.
I have not prepared Fire-Rider, volumes 2 and 3, for print publication.
I have not even checked the PoD site today to see if the other two books I set up there have shipped.
I have not changed out the ads at Smart Bitches/Trashy Books
I have not picked up the house so the Apple tech who’s slated to show up here tomorrow will be freed of seeing what a pigpen I live in.
I have not posted on hated Facebook.
I have not posted on even more hated Twitter.
I have had nothing whatsoever to say on pointless Google+.
I have not cleaned the leaves off the bottom of the pool, the ones that blew in there three days ago and have been pickling ever since.
I have not walked the dogs (again!).
I have not walked myself (again!!!).
I have not filled the gas tank so I can make it way to Hell and gone out to Avondale come Saturday.
I have not made Sheldon’s Scottsdale Business Association badge, and probably will not before I go to bed tonight.
I have not pestered Jim to get him to update the SBA website.
I have not paid my own Web guru.
I have not…

What have I done?

I have edited a lengthy new chapter from fave fiction author and returned it to him with various comments.
I have sent said author an interesting article from the New York Review of Books that I suspected he would enjoy reading.
I have corresponded with the same (author, that is; not the Review) about the ways in which the article seems to me to bear on the theme and technique of his current magnum opus.
I have sent out the weekly SBA notice and fielded a cute but time-wasting response from a member.
I have edited a number of pages of a chapter from a prospective client.
I have discussed conversion of said client’s complex document with Honored eBook Guru.
I have sent the sample edits to the proposed client with an elaborate proposal quoting rates for editing, e-book conversion, hard-copy preparation, cover design, and publication management.
I have once again attacked the problem of the diet/cookbook’s perennially cockamamie formatting problems in hated Kindle format.
I have uploaded dorked with downloaded  uploaded  downloaded dorked with uploaded downloaded dorked with uploaded the many-times-revised file more times than I can count.
I have called my own ePub formatter off so that she does not attempt to upload the thing into ePub, which will be just so much wasted effort.
I have re-evaluated, revised, expanded, and rewritten The Copyeditor’s Desk’s rate sheet.
I have somehow managed to curl my hair and feed the dogs.
I have belatedly gotten around to finding the W-9s I should have carried over to WonderAccountant.

Why can I never get anything done?


Author: funny

This post may be a paid guest contribution.


  1. It seems that there are not enough hours in the day and too many obstacles to accomplish everything you feel needs to be done. Also, if you’re anything like me, you simply can’t run on fumes any more. Oh, I can still do it when I absolutely have to, but not day-in, day-out ad nauseum, that’s for certain.
    Didn’t you hire someone to handle the social media stuff or am I mistaken?

    • Hire: Yeah. I guess that was not a great idea. If you’re going to do something “social,” by definition you have to do it yourself. Oh well.

      It’s a function of digitization. Y’know, this a.m. I wuz thinking back… When I was a truly young thang, I was what was then called an “early adapter.” If it was new and it was digital, I was all over it.

      That allowed me, way back in the day, to create a functioning, paying business that operated out of my home. It worked, but it was hard to persuade contemporaries that I wasn’t sitting around eating bon-bons and watching the soaps all day.

      Today, it’s a generational thing: people my age assume that if I’m not at a jobsite, I must not be working. They feel free to drop by or interrupt over the phone or over whatEVER.

      People my son’s age recognize the possibility (even if not, assuming any commonsense on their part, the desirability) that one might be putting in an 8-, 10-, or 12-hour workday from whatever physical place they happen to find themselves in — even if that place is (heh) “home.”

      We are being consumed by modernity.