So this weekend, I had a long slow cold, one that came up on Friday as a fevered flush with minor diarrhea. Normally it would be nothing to worry about unless you were one of the Carthaginian host crossing the Alps in the dead of winter, where if you sank along the side of the muddy trail, you’d be left to die. Or, if you were at work with only a bike.
Got home okay, but it was a long ride, and my head pounded through ever pedalstroke.
Yet writers have duties. I had to scroll through the latest Kindle copy sent over from the assembler (twice this weekend). Nothing like scrolling though 450 pages, looking for broken paragraphs and separators. I’ve been though this thing about six times and we’re still finding problems. How come? And let me tell you what a blast this is to do when you are alternately sweating or shivering.
And then there was the lady out in netland who liked some of the alternative stuff I write and could I please, please, please write her a little short story with herself as the heroine? Sure, I agreed (this was a couple of weeks back). Then she gave me the detailed plotline and must-have moments, which ran this little-freebie out to 18 pages. But I respect my fan base and support them, so I cranked it out. Sent it to her Friday. Haven’t heard back.
Today I stepped out onto the back porch in the late afternoon, just to get some air. I’d just finished another editing pass, I needed a shower, I was tired and groggy.
A crow beat past overhead. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” he said with recrimination.
Okay, okay, I’ll start posting Indigo to publishers again, soon as Early ReTyrement is out.