I've written a rough draft of the mail I intend to send to the agency I sent my work to.
Nothing too dramatic, just something along the lines of asking what their policy is on rejection; will they contact me if they don't want to see the full manuscript or not?
It's not quite ready, I'm not too sure about the wording, but it will be be soon.
I was at the dentist yesterday and my teeth are still aching even now, as I write.
You have to ask yourself why did God put nerves, and bloody sensitive ones at that, in our ivories? Do you write "Ivories" like that? Is there such a word as "Ivories"?
Well, whatever, it makes absolutely no sense; I wonder if it's some kind of cosmic joke?
It's enough to know that I hate going to the tooth doctor full stop. I'm scared witless of the drill and I break out in a cold sweat as soon as I hear that shrill, spine-destroying, pain-heralding whine.
I think the man who invents a silent dentistry drill will probably make billions... Mmmm....
Right, I'm off to help my mate with his house, then it's night shift tonight too...
Bah, who'd be me, eh?