I hate ’em. Actually, I hate three of them. And they’re all related to me.
I conveniently forgot I’d ordered cookies since my darling nieces live an hour south of us and we rarely see them. I honestly thought I’d dodged the cookie bullet for another year. Stupid, stupid me. Now, I can avoid the Easter candy. Cakes and homemade cookies don’t do a number on me. But set out a box of Girl Scout cookies and I’m doomed. And what do I now have sitting on my kitchen counter? Four, count ’em, four boxes of those damn cookies calling my name. (Okay, honesty here, there’s only three left because I just couldn’t help myself! Samoas should really be illegal in this state. Too addictive.)
So, as you can guess, not much writing done here today. Between my screaming children and those damn cookies calling my name all day long, I just couldn’t concentrate. And until they’re gone, my diet’s just screwed. So much for trying to lose that remaining baby weight.
Oh yeah, and four more rejections today. (Four must be my unlucky number or something.) I hate mondays. But one agent who isn’t taking unpub’d authors encouraged me to submit to another agent – included her card and everything. I guess that’s promising.