Parts of the subject line, above, are fictionalized. Can you guess which portions are actually reality-based? Because, I'm telling you, life can get pretty freaking interesting sometimes. The image at right (found here) shows how my brain felt, this morning. It's supposed to be a screensaver, but my computer is special in an elderly way. Actually, now that I look at that image, I'm pretty sure that green cloud is eating something. Eww.
We drove down to Hattiesburg, MS this weekend for a swim meet and saw a few hawks - not that many, actually, by comparison with our drive to Laurel a couple weeks ago. Okay, that's the car bit from the title line. The swim meet was great. Will took 1.5 seconds off his 100-meter freestyle time on Saturday, so we were happy. We did some hoopty shopping because Hattiesburg has a ridiculously fun salvage store. Then, on Sunday, I skipped the swimming events because I didn't bother to write at all on Saturday. The pool area is far too muggy and noisy, so I sat in the car with my laptop and whipped out a few thousand words on my Nano story. Cool. Came home, loaded photos, took a nice bath and woke up to call my friend. Turns out she's going into rehab, so she couldn't walk with me. I'm telling you, if you're a writer you definitely need to hang out with a person who comes from a large, extended Southern family. The drama could make some excellent story material. This is a first for me, though, having a friend in rehab. Hopefully, it will also be the last. Prayers for her would be appreciated; she's having a rough year.
I'm reading about aliens in Your Planet or Mine? by Susan Grant. Started that on Saturday night and am not far but loving it for the Brain Break and the general silliness. I took a mere 6 books with me to Hattiesburg. Really, you'd think I was packing for a month of trekking across the continent if not for the fact that I only took one pair of shoes. And, speaking of shoes . . . those at left had us all baffled. Sequined shoes? At a pool? You get splashed a lot at the pool so athletic shoes, sandals, and those totally hideous foam shoes (crocs?) are what the casual observer will typically notice (pardon the poor focus, if you would please). Sequins are a bit unusual. The beaded sweater that chick was wearing was really cute, in case you're interested. Actually, the shoes are pretty cute, too - just kind of a funny thing to see at a swimming event.
24,250 words down, 25,750 to go. Nearly halfway!!! My weekend goal was 25K, but I'm just going to be satisfied I came close.
Books I'm reading bits of, now and then:
The Invention of Solitude by Paul Auster
No Plot? No Problem by Chris Baty
Best weekend splurge purchase at the salvage store:
Bubble bath and smelly patchouli soap ("French Clay" was the name, probably because of the pinkish brown color). There's nothing like a little bit of smelly stuff to make a hotel bath feel more homey.
Best unexpected surprise:
Bumped into my writer friend John Floyd (author of Rainbow's End) at Border's in Jackson, at just the moment that I happened to be absentmindedly thinking, "I need to email John, but wouldn't it be great if he happened to be in Borders at the same time?" I hope I didn't talk a leg off of him. He mentioned this total bit of coolness: the publisher of Rainbow's End (a book you really need to buy - have I mentioned that?) quoted my blog at the Dogwood Press website in the review section. Neato burrito.
I still hope to join in on the From the Stacks challenge, but haven't managed to sign up, set aside titles or snatch the little button. I'm falling behind, here. But, I think it's a lovely idea and wanted to mention it. John caught me with an armload of remaindered books, so I'd have to sign up to start as of today or later. I'm guilty, guilty, guilty of adding to the stacks. It's a disease. Where is the magical cure? Let me know if you locate some sort of potion that enables a compulsive book purchaser and hoarder to both part with unneeded books and shut off the, "I really need that book," button.
Off to write. Watch out for aliens.