My poverty stricken, student daughter bought me lovely tea bags for Mother's Day. Called Morning's First Cup, each tag has a haiku or quote. This morning's is:
in the house nothing stirs
but the tea in my cup.
That's true of many mornings in this household.
My editor has passed on news about new titles this week. My mother's day novella will be called, The Billionaire's Baby Surprise, and my latest Romance will be called Her Cattleman Boss. Funny, how when I'm writing these stories, they feel unique and very much my story, with my characters, my voice, my heart and soul, but once they have a title, they often sound like... well... a generic product on the shelf.
Yesterday, I had my hair (which has been getting longer and straighter) cut back to short and curly. All my life, I have swung between long, semi-straightened hair and a short cut that lets my natural waves bounce back. I'm sure my hair's much happier when it's free to bounce -- and I'm hoping I can throw away the dreaded hair dryer -- but not just yet. I may chicken out of having the curls.
This weekend, (leaving today) we're having a quick trip to Tarzali. We've bought floor tiles for the laundry -- sensible terra cotta, to match the red mud up there. And we have to discuss door handles and other important "stuff" with the builder. We're also taking a set leaning shelves for the kitchen. And on the four hour trip up to the Tablelands and back, I'll brainstorm with E about my next book. That means, I'll bounce ideas off him and he'll make a suggestion and I'll say, "no, no no, that would never work!' And we repeat that process over and over with countless 'what ifs' and the occasional heated moment, till eventually I "know" we've come up with something useful. Always fun -- he's so patient, bless him.