Scribbles & Munch

      *does a happy dance*  That's right, a second agent has expressed interest in my ghost story manuscript! I'm pretty darn tickled about that. If only one had shown any interest, my inner-cynic would have forever written it off as a fluke. But now that TWO have asked to see more, I can give that petty little green-faced gremlin a smug, "I'm sorry, you were saying?" look. Chances are that this agent will ultimately decline to represent me, also, but hey, I will take every existing inch of encouragement until I claw my way to the finish line.
      This is a short post, merely to provide the above update and also to announce that my employers are out of town next week, so I am dedicating myself to hard-core novel writing. Anything that can be put off, will be put off, and I intend to do my damndest to get my zombie novel written. If I actually manage to finish it (a long shot, but not impossible) I will reward myself by going out and buying myself a new article of clothing. If this seems flimsy and/or flighty, consider that - aside from necessities like bulk socks from Costco - I have not bought myself a single item of clothing in almost four years--new or second hand! Any additions to my wardrobe have been hand-me-downs or gifts.* Hey, when you're on a budget, you're on a budget. So frankly this is a pretty big indulgence (and hopefully a strong incentive).
      I'll keep you apprised of how this is going. I'll also let you know if I bake any pies, because novel writing - like everything else in life - goes better with pie. OH! And I'm happy to say that after some wheedling on the part of my husband, KitchenAid has agreed to replace our ice cream maker even though it was past the warranty. So that means pie a la mode!

*Usually from my mother, who has far superior fashion sense to me. Every time I get an compliment on something I'm wearing, it's something my mother bought me.

ADDENDUM: Ok, faced with ten days of dedicated writing time, and what's the first thing I do? I'm peeling carrots for dinner, and SWISH! I take a little slice out of my left pointer finger. Nothing that needs stitches, but big enough to require a huge bandaid all sloppy with "Neosporin." Which means that I can't use it for typing without getting several keyboard letters all goopy. D-8< So now my typing speed is sufficiently reduced from about 98 words a minute (my average) to about 55 words a minute. The Muse smacks her forehead in frustration at being stuck with such a clumsy apostle.
And this is going to make creating the pie crust tomorrow a pain in the ass.