Got drenched this morning walking into work from the parking lot, even with my trusty umbrella. And now it’s cold.
Packed Matthew up last night, and as I post this, he’s probably still en route to Kentucky, although nearing his destination. (Edit: He just phoned, and he’s arrived safe and sound.) He’s spending the weekend at the Midwest Entertainment Industry Conference, being a judge for their film festival. So it’s just Hobkin and me for the next few days. Got some errands to run tomorrow, the skunk show on Saturday, and I believe there’s a neighborhood Nazi, I mean homeowners association meeting on Sunday. Still, that leaves plenty of time for writing and/or feeling lonely. Wish I’d thought to time some chick flick movies on NetFlix.
Bathed Hobkin. There was havoc. There was bedlam. There was chaos. End result from the carnage and mayhem: a squeaky clean, but verily annoyed skunk. On the plus side, he didn’t hit me in the face with a sudsy tail this time, but not for lack of trying.
I’ve been having an interesting exchange of email with a new Critters person and I find myself in the odd position of being treated like something of a writing mentor. It’s very strange. I don’t consider myself established enough or successful enough to be in a position to advise new writers, but apparently some new writers do. It’s both flattering and startling. I believe in paying forward. I’ve certainly availed myself of the expertise and experience of veteran writers (like Ann Crispin) to get me through the first obstacles of writing. I’m glad to be able to help other writers, just surprised that I’m doing so at this point in my career. I still consider myself a neo-pro, a fledgling professional newly coming into my voice. But I guess I am finally coming into it. I have lapses and I stumble, but I’m getting there.
New words: 100+ I think this counts as one of the lapses and/or stumbles. Gurgle.
100 Club for Writers