I may not have mentioned this before, but the latest Cup of Comfort book containing my story, Bedside Stories, is on the shelves in your local bookstores. So you will know what to look for, here's a picture of the cover.
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.
I'm feeling very productive today because I got all the laundry done. I may be single and work at home but it has been a month and I'm out of underwear. The mail man and the neighbors prefer me to be dressed when I go outside the house. I also did the dishes. Yes, I have a dishwasher but it doesn't load and unload itself, drat it!
I stripped the bed and made it with clean sheets and moved the bed so I could get to the books that fell off the bed and between the bed and the wall. You'd have to see the cramped little bedroom to understand. My queen size bed just fits in the niche with just enough room for books to fall behind the bed. It's a major undertaking just to make the bed, let alone excavate fallen books and magazines. And no, I didn't find any money. Drat again!
I have also spend a good part of the day doing some marketing -- that is writing marketing. I've been finding new places for old articles and stories and rewriting some ideas to slant them for other markets. I've also written another article for Writers Weekly, which will bring in a few dollars, and worked on some stories for Smithsonian magazine. Like I said, it's been a productive day.
I also spent some time discussing literature with my favorite Missourian whose mom and dad are my second and third favorite Missourians and listened to Beanie rail at me for not answering the phone when I was at a crucial part of writing. She can be such a brat at times. At least I called her back.
I usually like to take it easy on the weekends because Sunday night I bag up the trash and take it out so I don't have to do it early Monday morning. I also put out the mail that needs to go Monday (usually DVDs from Netflix). Tonight I will put out a brand new contract for another anthology and a promised article. I'm quite pleased with the finished result and I always enjoy breaking into new markets.
It's quiet right now. Even the mouse has decided not to run around tonight, probably since I've decided to stop putting her food in the trap she keeps ignoring while she dines. I cannot understand what is wrong with it. It was quite effective on my thumb when I breathed on it and it nearly snapped my big toe when I walked past it. Unfortunately, it does not seem quite so intent on trapping the mouse.
I have determined the mouse is a female. The other trap caught her mate quite handily, but then everyone knows that females are smarter and wilier and males let their greed overwhelm whatever common sense lurks in the dusty corners of their brains.
Nothing works. I've jimmied the trap, put down potato salad (she loved it, but in small bites), tahini (got stuck under the trigger and kept it from springing the trap), butter (it was the last little dab and I needed to clean the dish), pancakes and corn muffins, and even peanut butter (organic, of course). At first I thought she had abandoned me but then the peanut butter began disappearing a few nibbles at a time until the trap and trigger were licked clean and not a hint of peanut butter remained. A dust ball blew across the trigger when I swept the floor and the trap snapped shut. Mrs. Mouse has even drug the trap across the floor and wedged the wire mechanism under the stove so it wouldn't work even if she danced on the trigger. Like I said, it's a female mouse. No male would go to that much trouble.
In the meantime, while I contemplate how to rig the trap so it can't be moved and will finally evict the Mrs. Mouse, I'm going to take out the trash and mail, take a shower, and slip between clean sheets before it's time to rise and dimly glow for another week of work.