Well, it's been a flurry of a week, and I've heard from several of you that you are unable to post comments. I'm hoping that it's just a blip, since Blogger Help is less than easy to deal with; if it continues, please let me know, and I will brave the help people.
At any rate, this week has been very, very busy. I went to a marvelous book group (Mad About Mysteries) Tuesday, taught my mystery class Wednesday through Friday, and gave a brief talk at the Barbara Burnett Smith Aspiring Writers event today. I also officially received the first SAGE award, which is lovely, and of which yet another photo is languishing in my camera.
Must get iPhoto installed.
So I had a lovely afternoon at Barnes and Noble, talking with lots of friendly writers about the wonderful supportive spirit of mentoring. And after consuming a giant Caesar salad and a few dozen sugar cookies that Sara Ann kindly brought to the party, I went home and changed into sneakers. And then, at my husband's urging, I engaged in a soccer scrimmage for the first time since I was about nine.
Unfortunately, the other players have evidently done a bit more work on their soccer skills in the intervening years, so it was not exactly a confidence-boosting experience, despite my kind husband's insistence that I didn't do nearly as abysmally as he had expected.
On the bright side of things, I DID meet my next murder victim. (Fictional, of course. The murder will be, that is. Literary wish fulfillment, you could call it.)
Her name is... well, let's just call her Madge. (Short for Middle-Aged Dreadful Gorgon. Which would actually flow better as Dreadful Middle-Aged Gorgon, but the acronym wouldn't work.) Anyway, Madge has very definite ideas about who should and should not be allowed to play in lower-division co-ed recreational old-people's soccer. And -- you may have guessed this already -- in her (abundantly, vociferously, frequently expressed) opinion, I fall into the latter category.
I'm not saying I disagree with her. But she was so rude -- and I mean jaw-droppingly rude -- that after the initial shock wore off, my first impulse was, well, less than charitable.
Which is really not like me.
So I figure I'll keep showing up, if for no other reason to annoy her. And to pick up additional character quirks to incorporate into my next novel. If nothing else, I can always spend my time on the sidelines watching the kids and trying to figure out what to use as a murder weapon.
Heck, I may even spring for some cleats... and not just because Madge told me approximately 25 times that it was preposterous of me to even step out on the field without them, even though I wasn't the only one. (When I told her that my thought was to try the whole soccer thing out before dropping $20 or more on shoes I might never wear again, she sniffed and said I should have gone to Goodwill and bought smelly used ones. Again, kudos to me for exercising considerable self-restraint.)
But enough about Madge for now, although I'm sure I'll have more to say on that topic next week. Writing. I'm here to talk about writing, aren't I? And on that score, I am proud to announce that I am finally done with the rewrite, save for one steamy scene, and after rereading all 420 pages of my magnum opus tomorrow, I will send it off and resume work on the second book. Incidentally, last Friday, at Starbucks, I finished a scene, looked around at my compatriots, and said, "I don't know how your days are going, but I've had two orgasms in the last hour!"
Can you say awkward silence? :)
And even though writing steamy scenes is not my favorite activity (in the margin of every one, my editor wrote, "More detail would be fun"), it's getting to be easier. Particularly if you add a bit of humor in there. I doubt, however, that I will ever be in the same league as the erotic sci-fi writer I met at Romantic Times, whose aliens are blessed with... well, let's just say multiple endowments.
And you know what? I'm okay with that.
But enough about me. How are you?
And do you have any soccer tips for me? :)