Monday, August 15, 2005
I'm still really hacked off about not being able to get my new glasses. I kept my mobile on all day in case they called, even though I knew the chances were slim. I'll maybe call tomorrow morning and chance my arm. If they were ready I could go tomorrow lunchtime so I could wear them on Tuesday night out with Gail.
Last night I read another large chunk of Treasure Island by RLS, and today a number of issues of Angel Hunt by Cerridwen Iris Shea and Cutthroat Charlotte by Devon Ellington; two of the KIC serials I have some catching up to do.
As if my queue of projects is not long enough at the moment, I am of the frame of mind to start writing an adventure story. All this reading about pirates and dragons and mysterious figures is very exciting. Probably too exciting for little old me.
One Story rejected The Oasis by way of a short, standard rejection email. I like this story thiough, so I'm going to stick with it. The character in it is someone I might use in the future, although it would have to be in past-time because I kill him off in this particular piece of prose.
Tomorrow I'll draw up a load of places to submit all my stories too that take multiple submissions and that fit the bill as far as what the editors appear to be looking for. I need to get more short stories published. Some of them are good - I know they are - I just need to get the finger out and believe in them more.
Gail decided to go out to Fort Kinnaird in a last ditch attempt to get Laura school socks. I nipped into Specsavers on the off chance and guess what - my subscription shades were ready. I was delighted but it whetted my appetite further for my daily glasses. The woman told me that my lenses had now arrived from the place that thins them and so they should be ready for tomorrow. She marked it as an urgent job so I've to call tomorrow morning and hopefully collect them at lunchtime.
Discussions over my writing and the house never materialised; the issue settled over a game of Scrabble instead. This is a game that Gail loves and I get frustrated at. She uses my temperament to her advantage; subtly manoeuvring her keys around the board where I am forced to play for awful word points and leave the trebles open for her to snap up. You would think a writer enjoys this game, but it's a form of torture the way Gail plays it and always wins.
However, all is now peaceful in the house. Laura has one more day before she goes back to school (hooray!!) and tomorrow is our anniversary. The Festival Book grows daily, Fronds of Thought is about to head off for the States and I have a string of short stories fighting for the cause. Things seem to be coming together after a small blip.