participate in a 43T working-at-home support group

I read a lot. Everyday. Two hours at the very least, generally four.
I translate books.
I read manuscripts for a publishing company.
I have a short story to write before next month.
I have book reviews to write for a magazine.

I love words, stories, sentences, books. I love them. I feel at home with them. I’m immensely happy I get to read and write for a living. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. _{[Except of course astronaut and rock star. And Jesuit priest.]}

But that’s too much. To many words, to many worlds, too many streams of linguistic data. I have a hardcore underground let’s-hang-ourselves story to write. A deeply moving, quietly lyrical contemporary novel (with at least 7 hidden levels of meaning) to translate. I’m reading 17th century French plays. The manuscripts I have to read range from bad sci-fi to modern wit and urban poetry.

You, my friends, are witnessing my first bout of literary schizophrenia. I can’t process all this at the same time.

I have to make choices.
The manuscripts will have to wait. But that’s not enough. By far.
The short-story has to be sent ASAP. I have to keep working on it.
The translation is very tough, and I can’t afford to be rushed. I have to work on it now.
Wait… It means I can’t go on reading a book every two days. But Louis de Bernières and Joyce and the Demons and Faulkner are waiting for me. So are the Farseers. Sigh.

only 15,000 chars so far. I need to work harder.

Also, Almighty Boss told me on the phone one of the girls in the team just went amok under the pressure. I’m proud to be strong enough to do my part.

And… I love my job. My previous experiences taught me how valuable it is. No boss, no colleagues (I hate people, and I’m not even sorry), only me & my skills.
Languages, words, thoughts, rhythms & sounds, logic and poetry… and they call it working?

It’s more than I usually do, but it’s clearly not enough.

(Dear teammates, feel free to hit me if you’re fed up with my whining here.)

Panic attack ahead.

200,000 characters to be translated in under 5 days. Tough stuff, not Little Noddy-style.
I’m petrified.

I’d forgotten what it looked liked.

10 days to translate 100000 signs. It should be fine. It would have been at any other time in my life.
But right now…

Ok girl woman, time to work!

An e-mail from Almighty Boss. “I’ll call you soon about Chapter 7.”
Yeah. Chapter 7. The one he sent two weeks ago. The one which should be done by now. The one I haven’t opened yet.

Must. Work.

30000 characters.
Could it be done before I leave on Friday afternoon?
It shouldn’t be possible. I’d like to try, though.

Tomorrow:

Translation: 10000 characters.
Real life: Dinner with old friend N.

1. send form to sécu
2. send contract to ANPE
3. update resume for deaf school

1. call publisher
2. read manuscripts + write letters

1. call B.not very effective, but done
2. call S.

1. fetch my mother’s fabric
2. call osteopath

Just got five new manuscripts from Beloved Publisher. I’d like to read them soon.
Must remember to send him my notes about the previous four.

Also, met the editor from the magazine I’m working for. Nice guy.

Met ^little-known authors whose work I admire. Spent hours chatting with them.

Back home with copies of not yet released novels by people I really like.

The fucking job has fringe benefits I really love.