I vaguely remember writing last night's post. Vaguely. I think I was frustrated--reading a contemporary that had absolutely none of the trappings of "being" a contemporary. It's a very weird field and contains everything from chick-lit to the Cowboy's Hidden Baby. Funny how chick-lit comes the closest to being "real-world" while the other stuff just sort of putters along like it's caught in some sort of fifties time warp. No cell phones, TVs or computers. Everyone listens to stuff decades out of date and savors their rich aromatic brew (coffee) in a world where no one has tattoos or incontinent cats.
I've been working on my next class. It's a short riff on prologues, probably one of the least liked and most used stylistic devices out there. And yeah, I'm probably over-thinking it, but everything I do needs to make me happy because passion shows. I love prologues--epilogues too, and if I can't create some kind of connection with the people talking to me, I might as well not bother.
The days are getting shorter, and maybe it's just Seattle, but it's been cold Fall weather. The air has a nice nip, and the leaves are starting to curl at the edges. I've been thinking about moving my laptop out to the deck so I can enjoy the sky before it turns a permanent gray. It's been cold enough to break out the hoodie and fuzzy socks.
I got a part time job working at the Fall fair--my kid's birthday is coming up and I'd like to buy her something nice. I've never been, and maybe that says something, but just the thought of braving crazed gridlock and people intent on buying a fair scone makes me nervous. I couldn't resist--the name of the concession is so totally pun worthy and it's only for a couple of days.
I'm going to take lots of pictures.