A storm that wasn't dramatic so much as persistent rose up from behind the Olympic Mountains a few days ago and buffeted Seattle with its winds and rain and knocked over the two shopping carts. Their contents now lay, sodden, across the sidewalk. No one seems to care.
I am tired of hearing my bloggy voice and have been having a hard time hitting that green COMPOSE button lately. What more can I say about being a stay-at-home mom who simultaneously adores her children but would like them to move out? It's the same old see-saw. Marriage, too. Up and down and sometimes round and round. So, if I'm posting more photos and fiction than usual, please know I'm looking for my voice, trying to figure out where to take this site next.
I have made the monumental and expensive decision to hire an independent editor for my manuscript. I believe I've found a good one, an honest one, a thoughtful one, and I'm excited to learn what she says about the flaws in my narrative. I hope I'm up to the task of fixing them.
On the writing front, I'm also polishing up a short story I've been working on for a few months now, have passed it to a friend to critique (anyone else want a shot?) and like it quite a bit. Soon I will send it out, releasing it to anonymous slush piles and waiting for bites.
Re: Knitting. I gravitate toward the yarny looping and weaving the colder it gets. It's one of the most meditative things I do. And, though partaking makes me feel about 82, it's lovely. Fruit Bat, more than anyone, is interested, asking if he can help, watching intently as the needles slip and click, often proclaiming, "Mom, you're good! You're a GOOD knitter." In reality, I'm mediocre. But I like it. And I like that he likes it.