Fowl Play, the ninth Dewberry
The first of many leavings
Well, my daughter left for summer camp (3 whole weeks!) today for the first time ever, and I’m feeling totally bereft. Which is silly. But there it is. Thank goodness I still have Ian at home, or I’d be… on a plane to Europe, come to think of it. Hmmm…. Maybe this camp thing won’t be so bad after all.
So since I was at loose ends this afternoon (i.e. feeling sorry for myself and toking up on brownies) and my page proofs have to go out via FedEx tomorrow, I finished those up, then added about 200 words to the next Gray Whale Inn mystery (which I started in Port Aransas sitting by the pool, trying not to get splashed or carried off by a giant mosquito), and now I’m sitting on the futon next to a stack of library books I don’t have the heart to pick up because I’m missing my girl. I know that camp is hardly a gulag, but I also know this is the first taste of many departures to come. But I need to snap out of it. Sheesh!
Tomorrow I will hopefully have coffee with the fabulous Susan Wittig Albert, who is one of my favorite authors (both writingwise and friendwise) — provided she can get out of her driveway, that is. She lives in the flooded part of Central Texas, which is not, incidentally, very far from where I sent my precious daughter this afternoon, and she may be stuck. I hope she gets out; not only would I love to see her, but she’s got a signing at BookWoman.
But that’s not all I have to look forward to. Later this week, I’ll be meeting with Kendra Crispin of That Other Paper, and I’ll also spend a day in Dallas, meeting with agent extraordinaire Jessica, lunching with one of my Ballantine editors (and hopefully one of the publicity directors), and then taping a show for CCTV before attending a Ballantine cocktail hour and then driving home. I am, in case you were wondering, packing caffeine.
I did get some good news today — two friends, Jim Bast and fellow author Sylvia Dickey Smith alerted me to the fact that Murder on the Rocks is number 7 on the local bestseller list according to the Austin American-Statesman. And something must have hit somewhere, because my Amazon numbers jumped up yesterday and haven’t come back down. It’s mystifying, this whole business.
But I still miss my sweetie. If only I had cable and could watch the Food Network!
What are you up to?
What have I been up to? You mean, besides beating my head against a wall?
See, I am not sure I mentioned this, but our house is downhill from the sewer line, so we have this big sump pump that…well…pumps. Until a few months ago when it…didn’t. Twice in three weeks it failed. We finally got the ejector motor replaced and waited patiently (not) to see whether it would hold. It did.
But then the mold started. Creeeeeping up the drywall. So it was time to gut the basement. But the basement is my workshop as well as storage for…well…everything. So to gut it, we had to empty it. Into the garage, which is my husband’s workshop.
So, as well as the hassle of not having my workspace, I have my husband bitching non-stop about how long the project is taking. And I had the additional joy of the fact that my husband, who is a carpenter, was in the middle of remodeling our closet when we finally got the money together to do the basement, so my clothes are currently in the middle of the bedroom.
They’re *supposed* to be finished tomorrow. Now, they were originally supposed to be finished last Tuesday, but you do what you can, right?
On a writing note, tomorrow is the last night of my writing class. (It was a 10 week course as a kind of inspiration, not for technical stuff.) Then Tuesday night we have to do a ::choke:: live reading. Oy! Oy! This is sooooo not my thing.
OK, I promise the next time I post I will be more cheerful.
A gulag? Your writing is funny when you’re in pain. Being a mother is NOT for sissies, is it? I try to remind myself we are just borrowing our children and that seems to help….