Emailed some folks. Called other folks. Was called to meet and discuss terms of a potential job doing some web dev redoing of an existing website. Meeting later in the week, gotta go to a place I’ve never gone to before. It’s out of my comfortable walking distance. Borrowed some money from family to catch a cab.
I got that butterflies feeling when I found out I had to go some place I’ve never heard of until recently on my own. I almost never get that feeling. I hated it. Still get more than a little nervous when I think about it, but it’ll work out. Probably.
I’m fairly certain I’ve found a theme/topic I want to write about. Not sure I want to deal with the stigma/baggage that will come with it if I do. And I’m not known for keeping my accomplishments secret, so if I commit to the project, I won’t ever be able to take it back if it blows up in my face. For as much as I say I don’t like fiction about criminals and whatnot, that’s almost exactly what I would be writing. About fictional would-be and actual criminals, bound only by the crimes and trying to live their lives.
‘Course, if I misrepresent it, I will be loathed. And if I represent things to accurately, I would be accused. Yay.
Okay time to go to a different meeting now bye.