Well, crap. I just wrote a post and lost it. Just as well; it wasn’t a very good post. But I did mention that I finished the almost-final draft of Love Spun. I’ll take one more pass through it, but it’s almost as good as I can get. And that will have to do. I’m crafting the query letter and synopsis right now. You know, I can sum the book up in one sentence for the blurb. I can do it in a paragraph for the query letter. But trying to sum up the book in two to three pages for the synopsis might just kill me. It’s really, really hard.
I am too stupid to do any more work on it now. So I’ll just write to you.
I took my editor out to lunch the other day. Yes, me, myself, and I. All three of us had a celebratory meal on the water in Tiburon at Sam’s. I asked my editor what she wanted and she said STEAK. So I had a Niman Ranch steak sandwich with horseradish sauce and au jus and a Hefeweisen to wash it all down. I watched the sunlight sparkle on the bay. Watched the tourists take pictures. Watched the boats bob in the marina.
And I watched the cheekiest seagulls I’ve ever seen (and I went to a high school where we were regularly dive-bombed by the dirty birds). They attacked in flocks, six or seven at a time. They screamed down en masse and landed on any table at which the patrons had carelessly leaned back in their chairs. They stole as many french fries as possible before being beaten off by terrified customers. Children were crying all over the waterside patio. As soon as they’d pull it together, another attack would occur sending them into absolute fits. I felt sorry for their parents who would have to deal with the subsequent nightmares. My server gave me my lunch and told me to hover over it. I used my body as a french-fry shelter. And damn, it was worth it.
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