Yesterday, I left the plug part of my phone cord plugged into the wall at Panera. I did not realize this until I had walked all the way through the park, was at home, inside, out of my winter gear (Winter gear! In April!) and computer bag unpacked. I informed Real Life Romance Hero that I was not going all the way back there to get it. I wanted to pick up a new cord anyway, as I would have had to replace the electrical tape holding the…um…bendy…part…of…pointy…thing…that…goes…into…tiny…hole…on…bottom…of phone… together. Jack. It’s called a jack. I think it’s called a jack. Look, I write historical romance. These newfangled gadgets confound me. Let’s say that I needed a new cord anyway, and leave it at that. Maybe I can find a pink one.

Also yesterday,  Real Life Romance Hero kicked me out of the apartment, because I would be cranky if I didn’t write at the coffee house, even though I said I might take the afternoon off and do nothing, due to spotty sleep the night before. He said I’d hate myself if I didn’t, and I’d be grumpy, an he’d have to deal with my grumpiness. (The man is astute, I tell you. He also informed me I was not allowed to pretend to get stuff done; I had to actually get stuff done. He knows me.) I got to the coffee house, and realized, while setting up my work area, I had left the computer cord at home. Twice in one day, that is a new one, even for me. Caffeine obviously needed. I would have run home and grabbed the cord, but I had my tea already, so decided to make the best of it. Worked off battery for Scrivener, used my phone for Spotify, and commenced poking Her Last First Kiss with a stick for the duration.

Also yesterday (I am going to say Tuesday was my Monday this week) I saw my copy of Romance Writers’ Report sticking out of our neighbors’ mailbox. Yes, I am sure it is my copy, because my copy is not in our box, and our neighbors are three college-age gentlemen, whom I have never once seen at a CRRWA meeting, nor discussing writing or romance fiction. There is more of our mail in their box, plainly visible, and I have no idea if it’s legal to take it if I can see it, or if laying in wait for the postal carrier tomorrow is my best option.  Their box is full to overflowing and ours is empty, so maybe carrier only looked at the street address, not names or which box goes to which floor?

Today, I got to the coffee house, proud of myself for remembering the novella notebook so that I can transcribe the scene I wrote for that, set up for my workspace photo…and realized I’d left my phone at home. At least I left it in the charger. Well, the charger for my tablet, because that charger is doing double duty until I can replace the phone cord. :headdesk: Still, “blog entry” is the next thing on my list, and I have to earn my leisure time with writing time. Which is why you get a picture of the back of my head, instead of the front of the computer. At least it’s a good hair day. Now, if we can get what’s inside my head working correctly, I’ll be good to go. Blog , novella work, novel work, then I get reading time.

Speaking of reading time, I have a new post up at Heroes and Heartbreakers today, gushing all over The Earl Next Door, by Charis Michaels. As Skye would say, and may well in her post, because I’ve been a busy beaver with the posts lately, it is here and it looks like this:


Though I’d originally intended to use today’s post as a “you are here” sort of thing for new readers/followers/leibchens, and six hundred and seventy-five words into a post is a wee bit late to be starting that kind of nonsense, I’m thinking it’s not that far off. Random ramblings from the brain of a romance writer, blogger, domestic warrior queen, and babbly extrovert with intermittent confidence issues, about the process of mojo reclamation, making things up and muddling through. Three times a week, seven hundred word minimum per post. My cat posts on Fridays, because that’s how we roll.




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