The movers are coming tomorrow (Monday) to load up our lives into their van and whisk their bad selves off to Pitts. I hope I don’t embarrass myself as they unplug my computer and pack it up, though I’m not making any promises. More than likely, I’ll require an intervention and medical professionals to surgically remove my trembling fingies from my keyboard. It’s my blackened heart’s desire that I don’t make a scene, but what can anyone expect from an editor who lives in a Batcave, editing until all hours of the day and night?
It wouldn’t be so bad if I had my laptop, but the Fetching Mr. Price stole it, so it’s already become a PA transplant for the past two months – and all reports are that it’s quite happy with the arrangement because the Fetching Mr. Price doesn’t work it nearly as hard as I do. My laptop is as ungrateful as the beagle. Conspiracies abound.
So while I’m contemplating my fate, I’ll leave you with the most important thing we all do as writers, agents, editors, publishers, and readers…
I’ll be going Lights Out until I catch up to y’all on the flip side in Pitts.