America lost a great champion on Friday. May her memory be a blessing.
When I was writing my little romance novel I compiled a playlist to set a certain mood. A sexy, steamy mood. But now I’m writing a sequel to my first book, and this story needs a totally different vibe. Except that my mind hasn’t compartmentalized enough to make the switch, and I’m still thinking about sex. Don’t tell Studly Doright; he might get the wrong idea.
Having said all that, the characters in the sequel to Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort are grownups, and a romance could very well develop as the story progresses. Who am I to get in the way of love?
I am doing my best, though, to develop a non-romance playlist, but the first song I’ve added is the very hot, “Need You Now” by Lady A. So, maybe my playlist is trying to tell me something. I’m just not sure yet what it is, but I like the song.
I fell out of bed sometime early Wednesday morning. To be more precise, I fell while trying to return to bed after getting up with the cat.
Scout has been extra needy the past few weeks. After receiving a steroid shot for her allergies her appetite has increased exponentially. I don’t question the time she wants to be fed, I just feed her. She’s elderly, like me, and we know what we want, and we want it NOW.
Usually I can feed my girl without turning on any lights, but this time I couldn’t locate her clean dish in the dark, so I flipped the lights on in the kitchen. After taking care of Scout I turned out the lights and ventured down the hallway.
My eyes still hadn’t adjusted by the time I reached our bedroom, but I figured , “Hey, I could navigate this with my eyes closed.” Turns out, I can’t.
I took it slowly, using baby steps, but still misjudged where the bedpost was and stubbed the three middle toes on my right foot on said bedpost. In what I’m certain played out in cartoon fashion, I grabbed my injured foot and swiveled to sit down on the bed, missing my mark by several inches. Lucky for me, the floor broke my fall.
Studly Doright asked, “What happened?”
“I fell out of bed,” I said, not going into detail.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“Do you need help getting back into bed?”
“I don’t think so. I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes. Maybe forever.”
When I finally crawled back into bed I already hurt from stem to stern, and I knew that there’d be hell to pay later. Well, it’s later. Apparently I pulled a muscle in my right leg, damaged three toes, and need a crutch to get around. On the plus side, I can still feed the cat on demand. Nothing else really matters.
Maybe some of you were hoping I’d never mention my book again. Ha! No chance of that happening.
My first book, Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, is still in the process of being edited, but Rachel, my editor, believes there’s a good chance it’ll be ready to publish by Christmas. That would be cool, right? And by publish, I mean I intend to self-publish, even though I believe Mayhem could be worthy of traditional publishing.
So, why will I self publish? Because I’m 63.90 years old and don’t want to spend years shopping my book around. And with the number of folks submitting the books they’ve written during the pandemic, the chances of a publisher picking it up would seem to be slim. If I had connections in the field it might be different, but I don’t.
As Rachel sends back chapters for my consideration, I look over her suggestions and decide between my original words, her suggested words, or a combination of both. Often it’s the latter. I get very excited when she leaves my words as they are. That occurs rarely, but I’m learning a great deal.
While waiting for Rachel to send me chapters I wrote a short romance novel. 50,000+ words of fun (for me, anyway.) I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. I’ve had several folks read it, and none of them seem to think it’s awful, but it is totally different from Mayhem. It was a hoot to write.
Once I finished writing the romance I started on a sequel for Mayhem: Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, I’m about 12,000 words in. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed those characters until I engaged with them again. You know, they are totally dependent on me, and I felt guilty for leaving them idle for so long, It’s tough being a deity.
Thanks for hanging in there with me. I’m hoping the next time I mention my book it’s a plea to purchase it. I’ll try not to be obnoxious about it, but it is ME we’re talking about.
Scout’s dreaming up new ideas. Every now and then I read a paragraph to her, and she provides feedback. She’s not big on the mushy stuff, but she adores the nude jugglers.
In case you wondered, the towel was heated in the dryer for Scout’s comfort. She often sits in front of the dryer, requesting a warm towel, and I always acquiesce. I’m a well-trained human.
Yesterday I wrote about an Irish love song that I used to play for my rowdy fourth graders. They all loved the song, “On the Banks of the Lee,” perhaps because while it played, their rather odd teacher (me) stayed silent. Whatever their reasoning, we all felt some connection to the song.
I shared a version yesterday that was very sweet and well done, but it didn’t exactly match the rendition my students and I loved so much. I wondered if I could simply record from my cd, but the results of that experiment were less than pleasing.
So, I went searching for the more beloved version online and finally discovered it. This is Clannad, singing their beautifully haunting cover of “On the Banks of the Lee.” I could listen to this for hours. Enjoy.
There’s a song that’s been on my mind lately. I’d discovered it on a cd of Celtic music many years back. When I taught a group of rambunctious (that’s the kindest word I could think of) fourth graders one year, I found that this particular song calmed us all. The students asked for it again and again, and I’d play it over and over while they worked independently. So, why couldn’t I remember the title?
I figured the cd had been lost in one of our many moves, but still I combed through my entire collection in search of the one with That Song. I could hear the melody in my head, but no lyrics. Finally, I discovered it in a box labeled “Misc. Classroom Stuff,” and I did a happy dance.
The song, a haunting Irish tune called “On the Banks of the Lee” tells the tale of two lovers forever parted. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and there are so many versions out there that it was difficult for me to choose just one to share.
As you listen to Jesse Ferguson’s rendition, imagine a group of unruly ten-year-olds, mostly boys, some who just barely spoke English and were not happy being stuck in a classroom on a late summer day, sitting and working while under the spell of this song. I still credit it for our good test scores at the end of that year.
We hold some scars sacred
The slashes in our hearts
The cuts that never heal
Mostly, those unseen,
Those so deep that no one even knows they exist
Inside the heart
On the surface of the soul
We can’t let them go
While savoring the burn
Last night I went to bed early. I didn’t feel well and after taking my temperature realized I was running a slight fever. I NEVER run a fever. My normal is 97.8 and even on my sickest days it barely rises to 98; however, last night it was up to 99.2. Not enough to be worrisome, but enough to make me feel rotten.
So I blew Studly Doright a kiss goodnight and made myself a nest in one of the guest bedrooms where I was alternately hot, then cold, then hot again for much of the night. Only after my fever broke was I able to sleep. Amazingly, this morning I felt fine.
Of course, being the hypochondriac that I am, I was certain I had contracted Covid-19, even though I never leave the house without a mask and am super careful about interactions with others.
Then Studly Doright cut his golf game short today because he didn’t feel well. I’ve seen him play eighteen holes on knees that were so bad he could barely walk from the cart to the ball, so for him to leave mid-game is telling.
After a nap and some homemade (okay, Campbell’s) chicken noodle soup, he’s feeling much better. Studly never ran a fever like me, but his stomach was rebelling.
The two of us seem to have gotten a bug of some kind. Hopefully it’s played itself out and we can get back to worrying about something else, like whether to watch college football or another episode of Dexter.
I just bought a new white helmet to go with my new white bike. Matching is extremely important to me.
But the more I look at this stark white helmet, the more I feel like I’m ready to play a stormtrooper.
Straight out of the Star Wars universe. But, I’m one of the good girls, right?
May the Force, and peace, be with you.