anachred

I am home.

There is mud and there are pale purple flowers. There are white kittens and barnyard smells. (The smells inside the Florida room, which bothers me, while smells in the barnyard are easily avoided and rather appropriate.) There is both coffee and meals I didn't make or plan for, and two library books waiting for my pleasure as well as work this week and a massive rehaul to make of WD 101.

Great things relating to my handiwork:
~No one demanded name-changes (^.^)
~A Tor editor thought my dialogue was fresh
(if regularly incomprehensible, by many other accounts)
Great things related to the life of a writer:
~the quote: "I tell lies to strangers for money"
~making connections for the once-and-future-cons

There were many bad things to be pointed about my manuscript, but that was the point, and I will not make issues of that. The positives were much more a surprise. Though I think besides "this is my kind of story" sort of stuff, the dialogue compliment was the only one. Which means, I am sadly as much of a genius as I have thought I was.

I also still have the money to help support my friend's relief trip to Iraq.
And have a long season of hour-intensive work ahead of me to possibly both save up for a degi-kamera and a trip to Pasadena. I wonder what cons are coming up around there, and whether they'll coincide with any major collegiate holidays?

Now to collect blogging identities of my fellow Elevenses and practice the Eensie-weensie Spider principle of plotting in cheap-mistake shorts.