Thanks, everybody who's been phoning in with in-the-wild sightings of Hammered. (Apparently we're faced-out in Calgary. Wait until they read book two. Heh.)
In other news, still no writing, although the barest tickle of the urge to write is there, slowly re-emerging. I'd like to write a short story or six, since inventory's a little low these days (not that I'm complaining), but my brain is still empty. Except this one dried pea that tends to rattle when I shake it.
I have a list of story ideas, though. I just have to get some plots and characters to go with them. Darn stories that require plots and conflict. Whose idea was that?
retrobabble and Sharon-who-has-no-livejournal are in town for the holiday. They dragged me (fighting all the way, I assure you) to the land of back massage, steam rooms, and long hot tub soaks yesterday. The only drawback to this plan is that at exactly nine fifteen last night, all those muscles in my back that are habitually tied in knots went "Wait a minute; we're not locked up! what's this?" and commenced to ache.
As a result, there was no real exercise yesterday, although we're going to try for some stretching today and see if we can prolong the benefits a little. (Posture! Posture!) And it has me thinking about women and community and single-gender space, which is all useful stuff for Carnival.
I suppose it's completely inevitable that I would grow up fascinated by gender roles, all things considered.
I feel nicely grounded. Huzzah for that! It didn't help with the getting out of bed at four AM part of my morning, although I did sleep well.
Wow, what a pointlessly self-indulgent post. I'm sorry. I'm really very boring, when I'm not writing. *g*