One of my regulars came by last night, pointing out that her daughter is in college but her daughter doesn’t seem to understand how expensive it all is. I ended up telling her that my mom insisted I go to college, but said I could pick whatever I wanted. So now I have a degree in art.

She asked if I use it and I said no, not really. She asked if I had any plans for it and I told her that I’d done a little commission work a few years back for a short web-series and did a couple pieces here and there. She said something else and I wound up telling her that currently I’m working on making a few things, working on a novel and working on a horror anthology.

I realized that voicing the whole “working on writing” bit was strange. Strange to me, anyway. It sounded like what you hear/read about when someone makes an offhanded comment about how you can always find someone in customer service (waitstaff, café people, etc) who have a manuscript just lying about.

But I also find it hilarious. Sure, I’m working on an anthology. That’s the main goal for right now (especially if I can find the finished pieces so I can edit them and whatnot). And it’s not really a novel–the goal is to make it at least a novelette.

Instead of working on writing, what am I doing? Cutting up pieces of fabric into strips so I can have fabric-yarn so I can make hideous things. Working, albeit slowly, on a new hat for Jamie. Going through the mental plans for some stuff I’d planned to make off and on for the past few years, and kind of thinking about making a blanket for a friend’s baby.

Ambition? Drive? What’re those?