More good news

Sometimes I forget when I've submitted a story or book because it takes so long for the publishing community to respond. That was the case yesterday when I received an email to let me know the editors loved the story I submitted for the prestigious 24/7 anthology. I got in. The book will be published next year and my story will stand alongside internationally and nationally known writers.

It never gets old finding out my work is published. I still get a thrill every time someone compliments a story or an editor buys what I've submitted. My heart swells with pride when I see my name printed. I hope that feeling never gets old and I never become so jaded I can't find the joy.

One of the principles involved in the case over Andre Norton's copyrights left in her will contacted me yesterday to tell me the verdict is in. The appellate court overturned the previous verdict granting Andre's copyrights to Dr. Victor Horadam and granted them to Sue and Ollie Stewart, Andre's friends and caretakers in the last years of her life. Sounds like someone in the Tennessee court systems knows what they're doing. Sue is sending me the appellate court's decision so I can add it to the articles I've been writing, but you heard it here first.

Last night was one of those nights I decided to turn in early. I had worked hard all day, ran an errand that took me an hour, came home, ate a little something and went back to work for another four hours. When I was finished working I was finished. I decided to get undressed, put on my comfy gown and climb into bed with a book, and that's what I did. Except my mind still buzzed and whirled with ideas, so I wrote for a little while and then I read, falling asleep with the light on and the book still open on the bed.

I woke up and turned out the light. It was black outside the window and the man who drunkenly serenaded me on Saturday night was silent. All I heard was the soft swish of leaves against each other as a night wind whispered softly through the barely opened window breathing cool against the warmth of my skin, telling stories of far Arctic lands where snow and ice glisten blue under the moonlight and polar bears prowl the silent tundra. Even in the darkness under the warm covers the urge to set in writing the stories whispering on the wind wouldn't let up, so I got up and wrote a little while longer, writing until the urge eased and the night wind murmured a lullaby that soothed my burning thoughts. I turned out the light and went back to sleep, sliding into the soft, warm cocoon of dreamless sleep. It's the best sleep I've had for a long time and now I feel languid and warm, despite the cold, and wish to dive back between the still warm covers and sleep.