Signs of spring everywhere, blossoms and daffodils and snow. Snow? Yep, snow here this morning that is not only falling, but sticking. So much for the pretty freeway daffodils. Every year they bloom in a flush of sunny days to be crushed by a snowfall. Maybe this storm will be mild. The freeway drive is something to see, even with crushed daffodils. Ian turned seven months this week. He's banging toys and rocking on hands and knees. Scooting backwards into corners. He is not flip-flop rolling across the room like Anika did as a baby. He's very focused on moving in a straight line. He holds conversations of the "oh, ah, aagh," variety. He adores peek-a-boo. And he's starting to eat sweet potatoes. He gets bigger and sweeter every day.
Anika is all about Thumbelina, the movie and a book order book (remember the fun of book orders?) and a doll that she chose for her positive report card reward. Anika serves up tea parties for all of us. Our living room is disappearing as a flower garden grows behind the couches with fairy tents and plastic flower homes and Barbie and Tinkerbell toys.
Writing wise, I'm brainstorming a new story. It's going to be short (cause I'm liking the short story goals these days) and dark.
I did send out a couple of queries for Dirt last night which quickly tired me out. I don't send out queries without some research and then I need to go into my file and make sure I'm not repeating myself to an agency I pitched six months ago. I'm still pretty low in my overall query count- maybe ten queries sent out. I try to make them appropiate. I don't want to waste anyone's time. I get sucked into the whole quest of it all, the summit-fever. Then I remember my new trail, the trail where I get to make my own deadlines and explore new ideas. I like that trail, too.
I am among the luckiest of the lucky. I will be fine wherever I stand. Having the space to write at all is a gift. And I won't take it for granted. Off to storyland.