In one week from right now, I'll be at the airport, making my way through the security line.
I haven't started packing yet, although I've been giving it a lot of thought. Yesterday I got my hair touched up and my nails done, so I'll look more like an author and less like someone who sits at a computer all day in her pajamas, with her hair in a ponytail.
Umm... Okay. No comment.
Anyhow, I'm looking back at last year's Bouchercon at Raleigh, NC, and realize, I have very few photos. My critique buddy, Mary Sutton, who was also there, posted a look back yesterday on her blog, and she didn't have much photographic evidence either.
However, here is a photo of our panel, which was moderated by the phenomenal Janet Reid (not pictured--ever.) I feel short.
And here is me in the bar with a chocolate martini (see my post about Bouchercon in Cleveland to read about my love of chocolate martinis).
There was ONE moments NOT captured on film that will remain forever engr…
I confess. This next book is making me slightly insane. Or,
putting a more positive light on the matter, it’s giving me a wild ride on the
emotional roller coaster. I’m currently working on revisions. Stuff needed
fixed. It’s that simple. It’s also that confounding. Over the last few weeks, I’ve
threatened to pull my hair out, I’ve beat my head on my desk, and I’ve broken
my computer mouse…but that’s another story.
This week, however, I’ve turned a corner. First, I took a
day off. Sort of. Tuesday, my friend and fellow Pittsburgh
area author Joyce Tremel and I headed north to Erie for a book club talk. I love book clubs.
I love Erie. I needed a day away from the computer.
So we killed an entire day. It’s a three-hour drive for me
(each way). And there is no way I’m going all that way without sticking my feet
in the sand while Lake Erie’s waves lap at my
The book club was fun, too! As was the actual road trip. (Picture
two crime writers cruising the highway singing Barry Manilo…
Our "farm" isn't really a "working" farm any more. I miss the horses. A lot. I even miss the neighbor's %#*$ing bull bellowing outside our bedroom window at daybreak. But it's summer and there are moments when I'm reminded we're definitely out in the country.
Like when I hear the plaintive cries of coyotes wafting through that bedroom window in the middle of the night.
And in spite of those coyotes, we have a whole family (several generations, at the moment) of rabbits living in and around our yard. I call them the Bun family. Mr. Bun, Mrs. Bun and babies. Bigger babies (the teenagers?) and wee babies (second crop of the year). They're not very spooky and pose for photographs almost daily.
Our grand-nephew has bought my mom's house and is the sixth generation to live on this farm. Sort of. No one in the fifth generation ever resided here. But he's embracing his newfound farmer status.
He especially embraces his great-great grandfather…