letter #6 from me (Gwenda Bond) to you: Ack! I'm late!
Late in writing this, I mean, and so I apologize for brevity. Last weekend was Y'allwest (known as Sallowest to autocorrect, which doesn't realize that's a very different thing). It was a truly magnificent time with awesome people. I, of course, got trapped in the airport again on the way back home--this time an 11pm-2:30am sojourn in the Atlanta airport. Sights seen that can never be unseen: the deserted tracks of the concourse train (as you ride it solo); the 1 a.m. guy riding a Segway for all he's worth (might be a ghost); way too many things that truly can't be real on CNN (aka political coverage). You get the idea.
But then I was home and it took two days to recover and now I'm deep in the heart of deadlineville. In fact, I just added a new one. It's going to be a busy summer. Still, one of them is our middle grade novel revision and working together is much more fun than working solo.
One of the reasons this letter was nearly late is that I decided to walk to aerial yoga this morning, even though I was (a theme) running a little late. So I'm booking it through what is not a fully murdery neighborhood but at least sketchy and listening to Lemonade and so only twig that something odd is happening when the firehouse guys come out to break up a fight across the street. And I'm using guys gender neutral, because the first person out was a statuesque blond woman who could easily be indulging her secret identity and who definitely deserves a novel written about her. I made it to class soaked in sweat, then had a tough class, then decided to walk home again. In my usual comedy of errors manner, I was laughing at myself by the time I got home, leading a man to tell me that I looked very cheerful today. Uh-huh.
Sometimes sweat makes good writing, but not today. Today we had to clean house (sorta) for company later. And while taking a nap, I sold another book that I can't tell you about quite yet. Hopefully soon.
News from the week:
Photo wrap-up of Y'all and Double Down release post!
And since this is shorter than usual, here have one of my favorite poems.
Training for the Apocalypse
by Gloria Frym
Consider the will to love
as the decision to survive.
That's how the agents of Eros operate.
They sneak into your dreams
just before the world ends.