What does this mean? For starters, I can clear the litter of scribbled notes off my desk, take the kids kite flying and when we’re back, get busy trying to find the bottom of the laundry basket.
What’s next? Final feedback, and then the dreaded query and synopsis. IF and when I’m ready to face the trauma of shopping it around. Maybe I’ll blog more . . . mwah ha ha . . . you’ve been warned.
Another book? Ack–bite your tongue. If I could manage to keep things in proper perspective, I might be okay. But The Beast has no respect for me, my full-time job, OR my family. He yanks the covers off at 4:00 am and drags me out of bed by one ankle. He snaps at my daughter when she wakes up at 6:30, blissfully ignores my son and would leave me hunched at the computer until I was nothing but a pile of flab and bones. He intrudes at every family outing and even barges in on me in the shower. I hope to avoid this, for awhile at least.
I need a tidy hobby, a rewarding one that minds my privacy and respects my need for sleep. Maybe running. Or photography. Like perhaps I could produce calendars . . . something like Sexy Firemen or Hot Hunks of Law Enforcement.
Now that’s something to aspire to.