I am terrified of this writers conference. Also, excited beyond repair, but that's mostly cloaked in 'the fear', which is a term I usually use in reference to the smoking of the pot.
See, in a freakish, kismet turn of events, I have been invited to attend this conference by T's beautiful sister, A, to whom these conferences are old hat. She knows her shit when it comes to writing, has years of 'real' writing (as opposed to 'fake' writing, which is what I think I do....Don't ask.) expirence. This will be my first conference, like, since I was a child. I have no real writing to take with me (but have begged off speaking with editors/agents/publishers, so that's not soooo terrible) so I have been outlining and reading and swearing and bellowing things about dialouge and grammar and plot to T, which I think confuses and scares him more than he likes to admit. (Nothing like quietly doing a crossword puzzle in front of the fireplace, enjoying your cocoa, when your wife to be comes howling out of the bedroom demanding your justification of past and present participles in a context you cannot understand, then tears up a little and stomps back into the bedroom.)
I love that I am expressing my fear of my writing forever sucking with a huge run-on sentance with grammar problems. Love that.
(I just bang out blog entries and publish them. I am not one of the elite {not that that is a bad thing} bloggers who types everything in a Word document over the course of several days, edits, spell checks and so on. I just barf words out and let fly. Which is not the case {and therefore the problem} with my 'real/fake' writing.)
Anyway.
My mommy sent me a package today, which contained knitting patterns, recipes, and a leaflet on 'Safe Holiday Cooking', which reminds me of such gems as "Wash your hands before cooking", "Use a meat thermometer", and my favorite, "Don't partially cook the turkey".
Bless her heart. Seriously, my mom has like, no money at all, and it's a big deal for her to be able to send me stuff. So when she does, she feels like she needs to pad the order a little. She seems to forget that I have worked in professional kitchens a time or two. But the thought was there, and that's what matters.
She also knitted me a hat, which is made of really pretty yarn, and sent me a skein that matches so I can make one for T (no.) or make myself a scarf to match.
I have a huge head. And thick hair. So my mom, when knitting for my giant bean, always makes something akin to a grocery sack in size. She crocheted me a hat several years ago that I used as a basket because it was 1)very firm and 2)Huge.
This hat is really big, but it fits ok. And it's pretty. T says it's cute, and it sure beats my other hat (which has earflaps!) so why not. I'm not really out to impress the world.
See?
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