What Can I Put On After A Brazilian?

Manuscript Completed!

Three days late.

We will not be in three of nine months, I'm talking about three days behind the expected date of delivery of the manuscript. I just finished the first draft of my first novel. Now, at this very moment.
When I was asked at the end of the summer when it expects to finish the whole, I answered confidently, "If this continues account end up Christmas "and I could see before me faces shaken. Why? Only Stephen King could have the gift of graphomania?
And here I am, to Dec. 29, with a file of 210 folders to send in a copy shop for printing and binding hot. Three miserable days late on the Roadmap: tie .
Obviously everything has to be rewritten completely, because there are steps to improve, optimize parts, rhythms that were not always maintained, but they are very satisfied with the timing.

However, I feel somewhat uncomfortable to say the words " finished manuscript." It 's like a good movie ends and you are satisfied the final, but would you want that movie to go on and on and on and on. But the most you can start over and see things you've seen before.
E 'as if the characters were part of my life, like friends that I just met and from which I do not want to separate so soon. The star now lives inside my head for months and start finding themselves well. And I with her. I feel uncomfortable because the idea of \u200b\u200bparting has grown up and in a bit 'will be ready to face the world without me.
What will happen when this little world, which currently exists only inside the usb key, will be revealed? Like it? Will be criticized? My characters would remain there really bad and certainly would not have the courage to show themselves in public. I know them, I know they are capable of great acts of friendship, are friendly, but they are also very sensitive and we would stay dry if they understood that it is not welcome.

Currently I luckily for the head a thousand other things to think about, or at least have a thousand ideas to give to my aspiring agent, aka my wonderful boyfriend who supports me like no one else could ever do in this teen dream.
First, in order to rewrite and correct the manuscript, I need to see it printed and I'll inevitably send it to a copy shop for printing and binding a hot. This means that for the first time the file will be released from the key directly to the recipient "world". I will not presumptuous, but this manuscript has cost me a hard Executioner, nights when I could have done more, lunch breaks in front of the pc with out a sun that breaks the stones, and I'm really pissed off so if I discover that someone steals even just a sentence that is written above. So how to become a hyena to know that even the website dedicated to the ten ugliest things in the world, it was a piece published.
What should I do in these cases? How to protect the fruit of hard work?
I do not know where to start.
Meanwhile I can not wait to go through.

Staff Writer

Canon Mp 145 Service Error 5010

Muffin ugly but good Christmas

For someone like me, had managed to escape the attacks on health millemila disguised as Christmas lunches and he still wanted something tasty, last night I tried to make the muffins.

It 's a simple recipe, simple (my boyfriend when he saw them he asked me to hell when I first found the time to do so) and has served to remind me that are not so inhibited in the kitchen as someone has recently tried to convince me.

Ingredients 500 g flour 60 g sugar

0.75 ml extra virgin olive
2.25 dl milk
Baking powder 1 egg

Conduct
Preheat oven to 200 degrees and take it. In the case of cakes that have to rise, I usually use it in the Fan mode.
Put the flour in a large bowl, join the yeast (I used two bags) and sugar. Mix everything together to ensure that the yeast is mixed evenly with the flour.
In a saucepan aside, mix milk, oil and egg. Add the mixture to the flour with baking powder and stir quickly until the dough is smooth.
With the help of a teaspoon (or two) to fill the cups up to three quarters and bake for about 15 minutes, or until the tops of the muffins will become a beautiful golden brown.
Allow to cool slowly in the oven, turning it off and opening it slightly to stop the cooking.
I sprinkled the muffins with icing sugar because it was the only thing I had at home at the time, but I almost regret it. I put the sugar to cover them (they came really ugly) and a touch to give us a little 'sweeter (I used brown sugar instead of the normal for the dough and then imagine it would have been less sweet than expected). They came very good (modesty aside) and have been brushed by my boyfriend and friends that I had for dinner, but on behalf of another try covering them with melted chocolate, preferably white or dark chocolate, and maybe I'll know how to come.

Staff Writer

Asha Sachdev Boobs Show

strategic

you know those heart-rending way of the cross season, from house to house, from table to table, carried out with resignation to accommodate both families and spend time with everyone (but everyone) relatives? You know the feeling of despair and nausea before the fifth day in the open panettone, with the prospect of having to swallow at least three more before they finally set foot at home, to finally put a pair of pajamas and watching a "Trading Places" in TV phones with bells and disconnected?

Well, this year I had a brilliant idea to prevent this, and take notes because for now it worked: I played in advance and last night I added a lot of places at the table for dinner and I invited all the relatives and those that those of my boyfriend. Thus neither of the two families would feel neglected, for both mothers would be devoted the same attention and none of the two families would have then forced to go for a coffee, a slice of cake. Not even a measly sorbet. The plan was to split the back in a single evening and then disconnect and bell phones for two days.

We did it.

Last night was terrible. There were nine in a home, despite being rather older, the limit contained all there at the same table. I pulled out the good service and white damask tablecloth. I do not know how I managed to recover even the cloth napkins with the wish for a Merry Christmas in all languages. The mothers had offers from time to prepare something and to facilitate in the kitchen, to my great joy. I like to cook, but cooking to feed the stomach and senses of ten people is not a pleasure to be savored, but rather a marathon.

Relatives arrived punctually at eight o'clock, as agreed, laden with parcels that have been put under the tree and ... stuff to cook! The plan has been completely misunderstood. The idea was that of not having to cook everything here, but things have only to be heated. The result is that the fish arrived at eight still raw, to put in the oven in a pan and cook thoroughly. Shit.

So like crazy, I started up the oven and put on the fire that was cooked, counting on a long drink to entertain ten hungry stomachs.

I have not even noticed how everything has become a delusion in which I was tempted to burst into a double matricide. I must have just a goofy face in the kitchen or really wanted to help the mothers, the fact is that the kitchen was not big enough for all three. They began at first to advise me such as "I think we need a larger pot, then unleashed a series of orders / critical unbearable," if you put the oil in this way all runny and there are none left on mussels "and finally as octopuses were hands everywhere, opened the oven to monitor cooking, put the salt in a pot, opened the door to find no one knows what. All this, besides me feel like a total inept, it was really annoying. Gee, could not sit sitting with folded hands, for once, and wait to be served? The part of the evening devoted to the preparation of food was then a real pain. It was all to hear:

- You put the salt?

- did you remember the oil?

- Maybe you better put this dish instead of this.

- I usually do this ... (air-to-read critique of the type "I sailed home you want to teach, but I will not hurt your sensitivity giving explicit advice").

- Put more parsley, which becomes better.

All through dinner I had that pain in your ears. But had no idea of \u200b\u200bthe inferiority complexes that could result from those two? Not to mention the nerves on edge. A couple of times, the question "... Even took you?" I said annoyed "NO!", as if to say "and now find something to say, if you dare."

E 'was clear to everyone that my nervous system was Sbrocca when, with the scallops to squirt oil into the oven and happy clams to flood water overflowing the once shiny steel stove, my boy proposed "Ask your brother if you prefer to eat before the clams or hoods" and I said " NO, WE DO NOT ASK YOUR anything to anyone, okay? NOW WE DO AS WE SAY! " so loudly that seemed to scream.

Moment of silence. In that moment I had the impression of having spoiled Christmas at all for ever and ever. Then my father began to laugh as I hear him laugh and rarely are, fortunately all went back.

This was enough to make everyone understand that they had only let me stay, eat and sit, waiting to be served, feel free to discuss how many and what seasonings I put in pots and what course they went before the others. Since then everything has been downhill.

I enjoyed the evening, I have not burned anything or anyone and we enjoyed them all.

The moment of opening gifts was epic as usual, with my brother, as is traditional, sang the soundtrack of "Jaws" as if a child had swallowed a megaphone and was stuck in the esophagus. Hundreds of pounds of paper were flying in the living room and I just forgot the incazzatura a little when I first opened the gift addressed to me and I realized that my mother and mother-in-law must have taken us weeks to find exactly what I would have liked, accompanied by phrases fits perfectly and overflowing with affection. How can you stay angry in the face of all this?

The party went on until two in the morning, when all are gone and dropped loads of gifts of pots and ramekins that I do not even know that in my spare time, I was able to wash. Crossing the threshold of my mother-in-law has turned a moment, it is looked around and concluded the evening with a " home is just reduced to a toilet, but it was a beautiful evening . Never were truer words.

The house was reduced to one photon process: the living room was full of crap, the kitchen was gutted. Although the dinner cost us a whole day of cleaning, it was worth it, because we have won the rest of the liberal parties, without threatening phone calls to drink coffee, panettone and swallow other food with various relatives.

Staff Writer

I Can I Tell If Someone Is Diapered

How to tell if he is right

That's nice coming back to write ... I really missed my space. Not that things have happened since the last time I got to hear ciu, on the contrary, it happened all over.

Christmas every year, takes me away a lot of energy. I like to make gifts in time (this year I did it: Yay!), Decorate the tree, decorate the main entrance, the terrace, to cook delicious cakes, and all I committed a long time. If we add to these preparations is also a strong desire to finish the first draft of my novel for Christmas, as self-gift, imagine how much has been taken recently.

'nuff said, back to bomb the topic title: How to tell if he is right and not a yet another time waster.

I'll tell you how it happened to me.

know that we are furnishing the living room, right? Well, everything went great until we decided to paint two walls of the room of gray.

The day would have to be the designer to select the color swatch, I was locked (shit) to a meeting so Pizzos useless. From inside the meeting was trying desperately to communicate with my boyfriend to help with the choice, but, in light of the obvious logistical difficulties, after forty minutes of chat between me, my boyfriend, interior designer, a painter, I threw in the towel and I delegate to him the choice, saying " I trust you: do you .

I came home at night and I saw the sample was not gray, but a color of sand, green ... In short, an indefinable color, but I also like.

first assumption: the color of stay was chosen only by my boyfriend without any input from me.

comes the day agreed for the painting and this time is my boy to be stuck at work. I stay home with the painter, who tries a few shades on the wall and asked me to indicate that I want to smear on the walls. Knowing how hard to please My boy I said " do not do head shots, eh: atteniamoci carefully to the sample. I chose the shade so absolutely identical to the sample.

The painter painted it, made a mess in the living room, I clean like a camel when the workers if they are finally gone and I waited patiently, with his back to pieces, the return of my little man.

second assumption: I strictly follow the indications of the color swatch, without putting my own.

In the evening the boy comes into my house and I showed him proud of the work of tadààà! Be very disappointed by it and a terse "I do not like .

The question arose spontaneously, "and how come you do not like if you chose ?!?". Answer: " just today I had lunch in a restaurant that had the walls of the ash-gray with white lettering and I liked it really. I think that our stay would be fine with that gray .

Here all the answers that I have given in the next two minutes

But with all of local [@##° [@##° close to your office, just in what you had to go to lunch, [@ # # °?

But you could go there yesterday, [@##°?!?!?

But there could ever go in that [@##° locale?

But they could not close it last week for selling drugs, that [@##° locale?

Then I thought that I would not see it right to go home for the next twenty years to hear him exclaim, as soon as he entered the house, "I'm disgusted that color" and I called the painter with resignation.

Conclusion: repainting the living room in a week.

I understand however that he is right because, beyond dell'incazzatura maxima of the first few minutes, I do not feel angry. Maybe my boy must only thank the heavens because they are still without a strict diet and alcohol and caffeine-packed chaste tree, otherwise I probably would have killed him, as indeed I would recommend anyone to hear me tell this story. The fact is that I do not feel angry and are willing to risgobbare to repaint the living room, rispendere the same figure, only to see him happy, because our living room resembles that of local [@##° he likes so much. And I would say that I also already put a lid on this matter.

The more angry was the painter instead. When I asked him to come back to see the new color swatch replied annoyed, in a cryptic dialect: "I say first you want to stay gray, then give me a sample that is not gray, then I come and I paint what I want and now you call me again to tell me THAT WANT TO STAY THE GREY?!?! Madam, I hope that this time is the right time, because the materials are thrown away, thrown away money, work done for nothing .

As he's wrong, but then ...

Staff Writer

Scrap Gold Ingot On Ebay

When bad luck is concentrated in 24 hours

Yesterday was a particularly unlucky day, which began in a very bad and ended in tragedy. Started his head that criticizes me for something that I have not understood what it was (perhaps only because I announced that Friday will not be there because the house painter), continued with a lunch break inconclusive and ended with a crash.

Apart from the head, on which I have already briefed enough, during lunch I went to look for a Christmas present for my boyfriend. I have a clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat I intend to give him, so I thought that an hour's lunch break was more than enough to challenge the traffic arriving at the store, grab a salesman (" who want to go shopping on hold lunch? "I thought as a deluded," salespeople will most free "), the cashier and then fly back to the office. First I discovered that trying to go shopping at lunch time is like trying to make a smart start in August. The whole world seems to go shopping on their lunch break. The traffic was equal to that of the six, I found the store and parking distantissimo in the rain, I jumped in.

I got elbowed off the shelves since before the "thing" (my boyfriend never reads my blog, but I do not want to risk ruining the surprise) and there it is: beautiful silver color. I waited for a quarter of an hour that a clerk was free and I managed to catch it as soon as I have indicated the "thing" and I hardly notice "ONE"! The following dialogue surreal

- Ok. Let's see ... I have it in blue and pink.

- no color silver?

- No, I was not. But pink is beautiful. Want to see it?

- It 's for my boy ...

- Ah ... Show you blue?

- No, never mind ... (blue is a blue jacket and tie kind of old, ed)

- Want to see if there is somewhere else on sale?

- Yes, thank you.

(sound of keys on the PC)

- Here, have 6 to Treviso and Vicenza someone also!

The clerk told me with a beaming expression, but inside me I did the math quickly, and I calculated how long I'll be here at Christmas to go to Treviso and Vicenza to buy the "thing" silver color. I'll have no time, but I'll have to find, even before they end up there. Somehow I find sdoppierò and this time hunting.

The jinx is particularly fierce last night when, going to take my boyfriend to training boxing, I had the great idea to pass a guy on the solid line that proceeded at a crawl. And the guy in response, had the great idea to throw in a totally unjustified on left while I was passing, coming to crash into the side. Stramerda.

I approached and we stopped on the right, always in the rain. It was nothing short of a machine that all refugees will be worth € thirty yes and no, and he seemed to really have some problems with social adjustment. But you know what gave me even more troublesome the side of having ruined by a refugee who can not go straight? The fact that, just got off the car, he has started playing " intimidated the girl " (my head is imprisoned in the face of a high school, but are not so stupid) and said, "and h now what? We have to call the brigade ... And the fighters they take away points of the license ... . "Evidently hoped that humbly beseech him frightened," Oh my lord ... Anything, but not bad call firefighters. "Instead I said:" ok, let's call them. I sell points on the license . "And it's true! And in addition, thanks to the special diet I'm doing, it is also more than a week that does not touch an alcoholic: tie!

He immediately changed direction by saying that I should pay more attention and that was all my fault because I had passed on the solid line. And I again have to try to defend myself, "Well, at least a contributory negligence. I passed on the continuous line, but she is thrown out. do not see why if two people do the wrong thing to pay only one who starts. However, I quickly : do 'is an accident or call it' sti brigade? .

I think the fugitive did not even have insurance. He would not make an accident report. The only damage to his jalopy was a broken arrow and asked me to give him € 50 to take a replacement demolition.

I am good and do not want to fight, so we went to an ATM and I withdrew. When I approached to him again, he said, "then we agree, give me € 70/80 and we're good." And I, " but how? 50 were two minutes ago! In the face of inflation, [@##°! . My of stress and was more than enough because he would accept the figure in my hand without further discussion. Otherwise I would have called me vigilant, sure.

And so now I crawled to the side due to a refugee with his jalopy that he could not go straight, we should practice to renew the passport to find the "thing" in silver color and one day I also had to fork out € 50 for a obvious contributory negligence. But can you?

Staff Writer

Women Volleyball Cameltoes

length matter?

Yesterday evening spectacular. My boyfriend had invited a couple of male friends with whom to do things to men (a board game fantasy style) so I had the night off. Fiesta with the girls? Mojito like rain? Useless, are still strict diet. I made a hot bath, I got under the duvet, I supported the laptop on my knees and I wrote some pages of my novel.

The inspiration was that I also, for the first time, outlined a first draft of security "semi-serious", which could also survive that, with appropriate variations, the entire draft.
As soon as I started to write the story I took it as usual and for the first time in a long time I rediscovered the pleasure of writing. What is the first positive effects of diet? Mah My characters seemed alive in my mind and I saw them behaving like a movie, just trying to set up virtual paper what I saw.
treating them like real people to their stories could go on forever, even if I have in mind an ending of the novel, so I searched the internet which is acceptable to the average length of a novel of my gender. I never thought to find so much material on the subject. And so much inconsistency.

length the novel, of course measured in folders (groups of 1800 characters) varies from author to author, more or less seriously. They range from a minimum of 195 to a maximum of 278 folders.
seems odd, though, because to think of it if it was based solely on size, the world would be deprived of good reading as "The Lord of the Rings" or "It" and all other building blocks of literature that can, despite the size, to keep us glued to the pages and make us dream. What then is really a matter of quantity?
Well, I think it is legitimate to ask how many pages "printed" by the book, folders, or match the facades of Word, but to decide the length of a novel based on what can be attractive to a publisher is a bit 'sad.
Because ultimately it is this: to publish. When we bring a resume to an agency for work or to a hypothetical employer, we know that our cause will pay no more than a few seconds. I begin to believe that this happens even when you submit a manuscript to a publisher. There is the fear that the brick, as well as tissue, are discarded because they are too short or too heavy (physically speaking). The book, to please the editor, must therefore have the good looks of a contract, be aesthetically attractive when they will be laid on the shelf.
So then on the internet you will find recommendations of the type: Delos Books

stands between 350,000 and 500,000 characters as standard.

optimization of a paper to be sent to the publishers, the chances are higher that a novel is taken into account if a length between 200 and 250 folders, each of 30 lines of 60 characters for a total of 1,800 characters.

Any recommendations seem to agree that " the standard format that clearly does not scare the editor, while giving the reader a content sufficient to justify the purchase, seems to be between 200 and 250 pages .

All these publishers are paranoid, mind you, because if they left to do readers the story would be very different. I'm not talking about those who read a book a year and gets scared in front of a larger Volume of appropriate, as if he could jump on him and tear him to pieces with the fury of a pitbull but the real players, those who can not live without reading not even a week because otherwise they fall asleep, those who know that libraries still exist and have not been closed in the last century, those who read a book when they leave at the end exhausted, with the back crumpled, lived, suffered, enjoyed. If let the readers decide what should be published and what does not, surely there would be many more books in circulation and a lot less paranoid .

Staff Writer