Allrightyroo

Two wondrous things happened this morning, in my office. Thing one is that I found out that the snooty nameplate pen on my desk, which ran out of ink ages and ages ago (like back when we lived in a different part of the country ago) actually takes the Pilot G2 refills that I bought for the…um…PapermatepenwhosenameIforgetbutthoughtwasPilotG2, so that pen is now back in business. Thing two was that Real Life Romance Hero knocked on my office door while I was writing my morning pages, and asked if I wanted him to make some French toast for me.

For my new readers, Real Life Romance Hero used to cook professionally, so if he offers to cook something, it is going to be amazing. I utterly love his French toast, so it took me about half a millisecond to accept that offer. French toast, a fresh cup of tea, and, exactly when I thought “the only thing that could make this better is bacon,” RLRH came through with…bacon. That is one of the many reasons I love that man. The only downside to this breakfast bonanza is the amount of dishes left behind, because French toast for me means eggs for him, and dude had to be out the door to work, and I…was already in the door, because I work here. I don’t mind. There are prices we pay for the good things in life, and if a few dishes is what gets me French toast to go with my tea (especially¬† with bacon) then hand me my rubber duck scrubber and leave me to it.

As you may have guessed, this is another one of those winging it entries, and I got over two hundred words talking about my breakfast, so yay for me. If I give another two hundred each to lunch and dinner, I’m almost all done right there. Downside of that is that lunch was English muffin pizza (common fare when I am sola for lunch) and not terribly interesting, so we will skip to the time I noticed I did not have time to pack up and head to the coffee house if I wanted to make my scheduled chat with Critique Partner Vicki. Critique Partner Vicki has been on fire with her chapters lately, and I have three of them that need my attention. I also owe her an updated outline of Her Last First Kiss, because critique partners need up to date roadmaps.

The last several days have left me feeling like a teddy bear tied to the back of a bullet train. The thing-I-did-not-want happened, and that’s an adjustment, but life works that way sometimes. Doors close, windows open, et cetera and all that other ancient wisdom. Real life plot twist, let’s call it, and move on along. Listen to Ben Folds and Mary Chapin Carpenter, entertain pipe dream of those two making music babies, and uncap aforementioned pen (or others) to make lists of things that have to be done, then do those things. Plug in earbuds, call up appropriate Spotify playlist and find something to hold notebook open on lap desk. Grouse to cat about how all notebooks should open flat, and then make some tea. Check off things as they are done, and, when at bottom of list, kick back and refill creative well.

Five hundred and fifty-nine words, huh? Almost there. Almost there. Keep on going. Once blog entry is up, I can spend time with Hero and Heroine, and those people in the novella, which I have not yet decided terminology for, when it comes to blog talking. Collaborator and I have not yet named the darned story, except to refer to it as our “beach ball,” because we throw it back and forth to have fun. Maybe I’ll call it Beach Ball until we find a proper name. Fun fact: we refer to it, when talking with each other, by the name of a supporting character, though it is definitely the story of its hero and heroine. Some stories end up naming themselves, and this may well be one of them.

Six hundred and eighty-nine words, or, as a math teacher whose name I can’t remember (nor can I remember much math, for that matter; I think I traded in the math part of my brain for more story space, and I regret nothing) would insist, the proper name of the number is six hundred, eight-nine. Putting the “and” in the name of the number makes it addition. Hah. I’m over the minimum right now, so I could technically stop, but I’ve fallen into one of my blabbers and I could also keep on going. Only problem there is that I lost my train of thought and am now talking merely to talk. This is what happens when I am not around enough people, people.

So, that’s an entry. I’m in my comfy chair, I need more tea, and I have to get up and get my HLFK notebook anyway, so I can multitask. Time to visit eighteenth century England and mess with Hero and Heroine’s lives.

 

 

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