Please excuse the dust around here, I haven’t touched my blog in almost two weeks and the neglect is evident. I can barely remember how to type, my laptop is moping, and I’m fairly certain when I publish this post it’ll appear on the wrong website entirely because that’s how out of practice I am.
Serves me right for unplugging for a week, though. I should have known there’d be a price to pay. A full week of reading, chasing Aidan around, and marveling at the absolute worst July weather I’ve ever seen (rain! wind! thunderstorms! I even saw a locust, but there was just one of them so it didn’t qualify as a plague. Wes says it was a cricket, but I’ve already established that he doesn’t know things) and all I have to show for it is an alarmingly decreased work ethic and the hint of a suntan.
I’ve had adventures, though! I climbed a very steep hill made of discarded coal (it sat atop the bones of a defunct coal mine) and shared a hiking tip with Wes that my Dad taught me. I did drunken crossword puzzles with my sister-in-law and her husband (I’m decidedly better at crossword puzzles when I’m tipsy). I tried a Bacon Bloody Mary that was absolutely, positively disgusting. I ate approximately four million salted caramel macadamia nut clusters, and I listened to Aidan say, “Water” when we went to the pool.
Admittedly, my adventures are of the tame sort. That’s just how married suburbanite mothers roll, though, I’m afraid.
Slightly less tame was the handgun class Wes and I took before we left. We shot a variety of .22 and 9mm caliber semiautomatic handguns, and I learned two things:
- The .22 caliber Colt 1911 handgun is my most favoritist ever, and I want to write it pen pal letters I miss it so much.
- Glocks hate me. And I hate them. I might as well not even fire them, because I’m fairly certain I’m far more likely to hit the target by chucking the Glocks themselves than by trying to aim and fire them. Ridiculous.
The gun class was odd though. I expected the class to be mostly dudes, but there was an alarming preponderance of women in the class. Pretty women. Like, the kind who wear makeup, do their hair, and wear the kind of pants that sit so low when they sit guys like sitting behind them because then they know what kind of underwear the girls are wearing.
I later found out that the women were all of a group of friends who’d bought the Groupon together, but still. Do attractive women flock together or something? And why do they look so natural holding handguns?
On the writing front, I finished my short story before I left. I’ll edit and revise, and then make it available free for download because it’s fun and short and good practice for me. I’m scheduled to start writing Novel #3 in September, I’m attending a writer’s conference in August, and PWNED is likely going to be available in print format in four weeks or so. Woo hoo!
As for my second novel, Enemy Accountant, I’m still revising it so it won’t be available for public consumption for awhile. It’s good, though. I’m excited to share it.
And that’s about it. It feels good to stretch my neglected blogging muscles, albeit at the expense of a post that has a point. Maybe next time, eh?
(for Kindle)
(printed book)