Good Grief

I'm a very, very bad girl. I've totally not done anything I promised myself I would, and my DVR is overflowing. In my defense, the 17-year-old is now a high school graduate and enrolled in college as an art major. At least for now -- every other day she has a panic attack regarding her choice. Ah, for the days when contemplating your college major was the most pressing thing on the horizon.

And with everyone out of school, now comes the complicated task -- complete with flowcharts and index card -- or making sure everyone gets too and from baseball, swimming lessons, orientation, camp, and sundry other activities and obligations with the proper wardrobe, accessories, and snack foods. And the sunscreen, don't forget the sunscreen.

I haven't written, which is what pains me most. Although I have submitted a short story for an anthology, so fingers crossed there. And while I may be tempting the gods to send a lightning bolt my way, the agent has a major mystery publisher contemplating the mystery series. So I'm trying to remain obliquely positive, like watching a close game out of the corner of your eye, while waiting for the big Monty Python foot to come down and squash my flowers. I've seen Lucy pull that football away. You can't fool me.

So here we go again, like a random New Year's Day --time to start the resolutions. I'll start by writing here again first, as I already spend most of my waking time online. And then.... Well, then we'll see how that goes.