My brother is in town for the holidays and we decided to order Chinese takeout last night. I did an honest to goodness double-take when I read my fortune –

Open up your mind. Let your fantasies unwind.

How the heck did my editor get that in there? I’m writing! I’m writing!

For all those celebrating, Happy Thanksgiving! For all the turkeys, my deepest condolences.

I put up two plastic hooks in my shower. It wasn’t the technical feat (you just peel off the plastic and stick ’em to the tile) it was what it symbolized. I started running about a year and a half ago. At the time I looked more like someone mid-seizure than anything else, but I persevered. As my distance improved I started buying proper running gear (Converse sneakers, gray flannel track suit and a black wool cap worked for Rocky, but I wanted to be stylin’) and found that at the end of each run I had a lot of sweaty, stinky, expensive running gear to put somewhere. First stop is the shower where they get a rinse, wring and hung to dry before moving on to the laundry. Now that I’m also going to the gym the amount of sweaty, stinky, expensive running and workout gear is multiplying and with it the need for a place to hang it, hence the hooks. Summiting Mt. Everest it’s not, but I felt a momentary twinge of satisfaction as I stood back to admire my accomplishment.

I really need to get out more.

I tried to cook yesterday. Bake really. Actually, all I managed to do was turn the stove on. How hard can that be? Note to self: in the future, do not put flammable oven mitts in the lower broiler just inches from an open flame. The pizza I had been planning on cooking stayed in the freezer while the charred and flaming oven mitts were first doused with water then run down the stairs to be dumped on the sidewalk to the amusement and consternation of the mail lady, cable guy, and various passers by. I met a lot of my neighbors in the building as they stuck their heads out to see if the apartment really was on fire or if I was just trying to cook again.

This morning I found six takeout menus in front of my door. Subtle.

I didn’t start out yesterday planning to pour over male model head shots, really, but you know how one thing leads to another…

Actually, my British editor emailed and said they were casting for the model on whom to base my main character for the cover. Why, I yelled, didn’t I choose a super model babe as a protagonist? But noooo, I had to go with a dude, so I wound up flipping through portfolios discussing stubble or no stubble, wide chin or narrow, dark or light hair, long or short hair, tanned or light, a few wrinkles or fresh-faced and more. In the end we settled on a great looking model who we all agreed will convey what we want for Konowa and I gained a whole new respect for casting directors. The artist will shoot the model next week then start on the artwork. This will be the first time I’ll have seen my main character illustrated so I’m really looking forward to seeing it.

FYI, turns out there are a lot of good looking blokes in the UK…just saying.

Damn you karma! Next book is all women, maybe cheerleaders by day, crime fighters by night.

If you’re looking for your big break into the glamorous life of writing you really should see a doctor. If pills and therapy don’t cure you then you’re already too far gone so you might as well check out the Amazon and Penguin sponsored contest here.

Bonne chance!