Patricia Davids's Blog
October 9, 2017
My birthday adventure
Me and the Monster of Carey Creek
It was my birthday a while back. Not any birthday, a momentous one. I turned 65.
Old-ish, Medicare ready, Social Security on the way, I was happy to hit another milestone but what I wanted for my birthday was a little bit of nostalgia. I wanted to go fishing in the creek that runs through my dad’s farm.
Carey Creek is hardly big enough to deserve a name but it was one of my favorite spots as a kid. I waded in it, swam in it, seined minnows, caught crawdads in the muddy water and I fished there. First with a long cane pole when I was little and later with a rod and reel when I got older. I caught sun perch and pumpkin seed perch and if I was lucky a few bullheads big enough for my mother to fry up for supper.
My whole family loves to fish and we have our favorite place near Delevan, Ks where a spring fed creek hidden in the Flint Hills harbors some awesome bigmouth bass and catfish. Dad likes to fish for wipers and bass on Milford or Herington Lake from his boat. I admit I like that, too, but my favorite fishing is done from the bank of a creek in the shade of a tree with the birds and the wind for company.
So, for my 65th birthday that was the plan. I would walk down to the creek, sit a spell and maybe hook a bass or two on a spinner or a bullhead or channel cat on some beef liver and look back on my life3.
The sun was setting by the time I tired of casting a spinner. I caught and put back two nice bass. My dog Sugar was busy running up and down the bank trying to bite the fish I caught. She’s a rat terrier. I guess to her they look like water rats.
Finally, I put some beef liver on my catfish pole with its long rod and twenty-pound test line. It was a bit of overkill on the creek but I didn’t think it would matter. I set my bobber at about two and a half or three feet which is the depth of that stretch of water that parallels the dirt road on the south lane.
The wind died down and I took a deep breath of pure air as I watched the sun set through the trees. Trees that weren’t there was I was little. It had been a horse pasture then. Just grass. It was a jungle now of the hackberry, cottonwoods, Osage orange and elm trees that had grown up over fifty years to make the pasture unrecognizable. White-tail deer, wild turkey and the occasional bobcat prowl the shadowy depths where my brothers and I used to play football and I trained my horse to jump over wooden barriers for fun.
My tall orange and white bobber ducked under the water once. My pulse raced as I picked up my pole. My brother Mark is a fly fishing guide in Montana, a professional fisherman. He says “the tug is the drug,” and he is so right. The bobber dove under the water and I set the hook and Zower, there was a big fish on the other end.
Eeeerrr, my reel squealed as he lunged against the drag in his dash upstream. I pulled him back, cranked in a little line, pulled again, cranked in a little more then, Eeeerr, he made a dash downstream and I knew I had a monster on my hands.
I have never seriously fought a fish. I have caught some three and five-pound wipers or bass or even trout that took some time to reel in but this was different. This was a fight. My little dog Sugar was going crazy at the sight of my orange and white bobber flashing across the water.
I was wondering how long it would go on. Five minutes? Had it been five minutes? The Monster didn’t act tired. I wasn’t going to admit my carpel tunnel affected wrists were hurting. I cranked, he spooled out more line, I cranked some more. The dog barked. The sun set in a brilliant ball of orange. Suddenly, the ultimate outcome of this epic battle came into sharp focus for me. I could reel him in but I couldn’t land him.
The banks of the creek are five-foot high in my fishing spot. Straight down into the water. Even if I got him to the bottom of the bank there was no way I could lift him five feet straight up out of the water. I did not have a dipnet with me. Why would I? No one has ever caught a fish like this in our little creek.
So, we had a Mexican standoff. I couldn’t land him, he couldn’t shake my hook but by golly he tried. He rolled and lunged and splashed his tail. And then I heard the put-put of my Dad’s four-wheeler coming down the road. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to win.
“Get a dipnet! I need a dipnet!”
Dad waved. “I’m coming. Figured you’d be done fishing by now.”
“Go get a dipnet! I need a dipnet, Dad. Get a net!”
For those of you who don’t know my dad, he is stone cold deaf unless you are a foot away from his hearing aide. Seriously and that’s if he has it turned on which he didn’t. He walks with a cane and his unsteady gate makes it dangerous for him to get close enough to the bank to help.
He waved again from his four-wheeler on the road. “No rush.”
“No rush.” I looked at the fish at the bottom of the bank just visible in the fading light. He was a flathead, black and sleek with a huge head and beady eyes. Ten pounds, maybe more. He was on his side. His gills were flapping. I knew he was done, but so was I. I couldn’t get down to get hold of him. My only choice was to try and lift him straight up. Sugar was pacing at my feet sure she was going to get a nip in. I had him two-thirds out of the water when my line snapped.
Oh, no! “Sugar, get him!” I yelled like my fifteen-pound dog could land a ten-pound fish by herself. Sugar gave it a look. She was ready to jump when I came to my senses yelled, “No!”
Then I saw it. Caught in the bush a few feet down from the top was my cork.
Please let the line still be attached.
If I could just get my hand on the line. The fish was gasping in the shallows.
I threw myself down on my belly and grabbed the cork as the end of the line slipped through my fingers. With a flick of his tail the Monster was gone. All I had to show for our epic fight was grass stains on my shirt and the bobber in my hand. He had my hook.
I’m ashamed to say I pounded the ground in frustration. My dad came gingerly through the grass and stopped a few feet away. “Are you done fishing yet?”
I bowed my head. “Yes, I’m done.”
My birthday adventure was over. What could possibly top hooking a Monster like that?
I’ve been told swallowing a hook won’t always harm a fish. My fisherman brother assured me an old catfish would likely live a long time and might even pass the hook one day. I hope so.
I rose to my feet, dusted off my hands and stared at the now still surface of the water. The balance of power in that little world had shifted for the both of us. Why? Because he knows that I know he is in there. There will be another meeting. There will be a dipnet within reach.
Thank you Monster of Carey Creek for a most memorable birthday.
It was my birthday a while back. Not any birthday, a momentous one. I turned 65.
Old-ish, Medicare ready, Social Security on the way, I was happy to hit another milestone but what I wanted for my birthday was a little bit of nostalgia. I wanted to go fishing in the creek that runs through my dad’s farm.
Carey Creek is hardly big enough to deserve a name but it was one of my favorite spots as a kid. I waded in it, swam in it, seined minnows, caught crawdads in the muddy water and I fished there. First with a long cane pole when I was little and later with a rod and reel when I got older. I caught sun perch and pumpkin seed perch and if I was lucky a few bullheads big enough for my mother to fry up for supper.
My whole family loves to fish and we have our favorite place near Delevan, Ks where a spring fed creek hidden in the Flint Hills harbors some awesome bigmouth bass and catfish. Dad likes to fish for wipers and bass on Milford or Herington Lake from his boat. I admit I like that, too, but my favorite fishing is done from the bank of a creek in the shade of a tree with the birds and the wind for company.
So, for my 65th birthday that was the plan. I would walk down to the creek, sit a spell and maybe hook a bass or two on a spinner or a bullhead or channel cat on some beef liver and look back on my life3.
The sun was setting by the time I tired of casting a spinner. I caught and put back two nice bass. My dog Sugar was busy running up and down the bank trying to bite the fish I caught. She’s a rat terrier. I guess to her they look like water rats.
Finally, I put some beef liver on my catfish pole with its long rod and twenty-pound test line. It was a bit of overkill on the creek but I didn’t think it would matter. I set my bobber at about two and a half or three feet which is the depth of that stretch of water that parallels the dirt road on the south lane.
The wind died down and I took a deep breath of pure air as I watched the sun set through the trees. Trees that weren’t there was I was little. It had been a horse pasture then. Just grass. It was a jungle now of the hackberry, cottonwoods, Osage orange and elm trees that had grown up over fifty years to make the pasture unrecognizable. White-tail deer, wild turkey and the occasional bobcat prowl the shadowy depths where my brothers and I used to play football and I trained my horse to jump over wooden barriers for fun.
My tall orange and white bobber ducked under the water once. My pulse raced as I picked up my pole. My brother Mark is a fly fishing guide in Montana, a professional fisherman. He says “the tug is the drug,” and he is so right. The bobber dove under the water and I set the hook and Zower, there was a big fish on the other end.
Eeeerrr, my reel squealed as he lunged against the drag in his dash upstream. I pulled him back, cranked in a little line, pulled again, cranked in a little more then, Eeeerr, he made a dash downstream and I knew I had a monster on my hands.
I have never seriously fought a fish. I have caught some three and five-pound wipers or bass or even trout that took some time to reel in but this was different. This was a fight. My little dog Sugar was going crazy at the sight of my orange and white bobber flashing across the water.
I was wondering how long it would go on. Five minutes? Had it been five minutes? The Monster didn’t act tired. I wasn’t going to admit my carpel tunnel affected wrists were hurting. I cranked, he spooled out more line, I cranked some more. The dog barked. The sun set in a brilliant ball of orange. Suddenly, the ultimate outcome of this epic battle came into sharp focus for me. I could reel him in but I couldn’t land him.
The banks of the creek are five-foot high in my fishing spot. Straight down into the water. Even if I got him to the bottom of the bank there was no way I could lift him five feet straight up out of the water. I did not have a dipnet with me. Why would I? No one has ever caught a fish like this in our little creek.
So, we had a Mexican standoff. I couldn’t land him, he couldn’t shake my hook but by golly he tried. He rolled and lunged and splashed his tail. And then I heard the put-put of my Dad’s four-wheeler coming down the road. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to win.
“Get a dipnet! I need a dipnet!”
Dad waved. “I’m coming. Figured you’d be done fishing by now.”
“Go get a dipnet! I need a dipnet, Dad. Get a net!”
For those of you who don’t know my dad, he is stone cold deaf unless you are a foot away from his hearing aide. Seriously and that’s if he has it turned on which he didn’t. He walks with a cane and his unsteady gate makes it dangerous for him to get close enough to the bank to help.
He waved again from his four-wheeler on the road. “No rush.”
“No rush.” I looked at the fish at the bottom of the bank just visible in the fading light. He was a flathead, black and sleek with a huge head and beady eyes. Ten pounds, maybe more. He was on his side. His gills were flapping. I knew he was done, but so was I. I couldn’t get down to get hold of him. My only choice was to try and lift him straight up. Sugar was pacing at my feet sure she was going to get a nip in. I had him two-thirds out of the water when my line snapped.
Oh, no! “Sugar, get him!” I yelled like my fifteen-pound dog could land a ten-pound fish by herself. Sugar gave it a look. She was ready to jump when I came to my senses yelled, “No!”
Then I saw it. Caught in the bush a few feet down from the top was my cork.
Please let the line still be attached.
If I could just get my hand on the line. The fish was gasping in the shallows.
I threw myself down on my belly and grabbed the cork as the end of the line slipped through my fingers. With a flick of his tail the Monster was gone. All I had to show for our epic fight was grass stains on my shirt and the bobber in my hand. He had my hook.
I’m ashamed to say I pounded the ground in frustration. My dad came gingerly through the grass and stopped a few feet away. “Are you done fishing yet?”
I bowed my head. “Yes, I’m done.”
My birthday adventure was over. What could possibly top hooking a Monster like that?
I’ve been told swallowing a hook won’t always harm a fish. My fisherman brother assured me an old catfish would likely live a long time and might even pass the hook one day. I hope so.
I rose to my feet, dusted off my hands and stared at the now still surface of the water. The balance of power in that little world had shifted for the both of us. Why? Because he knows that I know he is in there. There will be another meeting. There will be a dipnet within reach.
Thank you Monster of Carey Creek for a most memorable birthday.
March 14, 2017
The Sale Barn
Today I went with my brother and my father to a cattle sale. We went to the sale barn in St. Mary's Kansas to be exact. A trip that took an hour and a half one way. I have to admit that in all the years while I was growing up on the farm, I never went to the sale barns with Dad. I had four brothers and to be honest, I didn't see being a farmer's wife in my future so I didn't mind. I learned several important things at the sale today.
1. The auctioneer is very hard to understand.
2. The baby calves are so cute that you want to take them all home, but you can't.
3. I can't tell a good looking steer from a sorry reject but my brother can and he can tell you within a few pounds how much they weigh.
I won't say I enjoyed myself, but it was interesting to watch the men and women who do know what makes good cattle. I will admit I was surprised by the number of women in the crowd. You go girls. I hope to see a female auctioneer at work one of these days. My ulterior motive in going along was because I plan to have an Amish auctioneer as the hero of my next book. More research is needed.
Do you enjoy auctions? What's the most unusual item you have purchased at an auction?
1. The auctioneer is very hard to understand.
2. The baby calves are so cute that you want to take them all home, but you can't.
3. I can't tell a good looking steer from a sorry reject but my brother can and he can tell you within a few pounds how much they weigh.
I won't say I enjoyed myself, but it was interesting to watch the men and women who do know what makes good cattle. I will admit I was surprised by the number of women in the crowd. You go girls. I hope to see a female auctioneer at work one of these days. My ulterior motive in going along was because I plan to have an Amish auctioneer as the hero of my next book. More research is needed.
Do you enjoy auctions? What's the most unusual item you have purchased at an auction?
February 28, 2017
March 1 is the Big Day
Tomorrow, March 1st is a big day for me. It's not a birthday or anything like that but it is a special day. Tomorrow is the official release of my 30th novel writing as Patricia Davids.
30 books since I published my first novel in 2006. Sounds like a lot.
I can honestly say I didn't know I had that many stories in me. I tried for nearly eight years before I sold my first book. I gathered quite a few rejection letters in that time. 15 in all. Each and everyone of the them stung. But they also made me more determined than ever to succeed. I developed a thick skin but I also paid attention and made changes if the suggestions were honest and constructive.
People often ask me which of my books is my favorite. I can tell you with a straight face that I haven't written it yet. The two I like the best "so far" are His Bundle of Joy (my first) and The Amish Midwife, the one that was the most fun to write.
Do you have a favorite Patricia Davids book? If you do, tell me which one it is and why you liked it.
Pat D.
30 books since I published my first novel in 2006. Sounds like a lot.
I can honestly say I didn't know I had that many stories in me. I tried for nearly eight years before I sold my first book. I gathered quite a few rejection letters in that time. 15 in all. Each and everyone of the them stung. But they also made me more determined than ever to succeed. I developed a thick skin but I also paid attention and made changes if the suggestions were honest and constructive.
People often ask me which of my books is my favorite. I can tell you with a straight face that I haven't written it yet. The two I like the best "so far" are His Bundle of Joy (my first) and The Amish Midwife, the one that was the most fun to write.
Do you have a favorite Patricia Davids book? If you do, tell me which one it is and why you liked it.
Pat D.
February 20, 2017
Highs and Lows
All of life is made up of highs and lows. For the first time in almost 15 months I have a new book in the stores. What a high. Then last week I learned that my beloved dog has lymphoma and only a few months to live. What a low blow.
Yes, I know it could have been worse. It could have been my daughter or one of my grandchildren, but my Sadie Sue is like family. She was my husband's dog. A pound puppy part yellow lab and maybe pointer. She is a fetching fool for a ball or a Frisbee. I'm going to miss her but she gave me years of laughter and comfort.
I had already started work on a new Amish Bachelors book when I got this news. Oddly, I had decided to make a dog one of my secondary characters. Lancelot the basset hound. You can be sure he will possess some of Sadie Sue's best and funniest qualities and her pussy willow soft ears.
If you have a favorite pet - in real life or in a book - I'd love to hear about them.
Pat Davids.
Yes, I know it could have been worse. It could have been my daughter or one of my grandchildren, but my Sadie Sue is like family. She was my husband's dog. A pound puppy part yellow lab and maybe pointer. She is a fetching fool for a ball or a Frisbee. I'm going to miss her but she gave me years of laughter and comfort.
I had already started work on a new Amish Bachelors book when I got this news. Oddly, I had decided to make a dog one of my secondary characters. Lancelot the basset hound. You can be sure he will possess some of Sadie Sue's best and funniest qualities and her pussy willow soft ears.
If you have a favorite pet - in real life or in a book - I'd love to hear about them.
Pat Davids.
February 14, 2017
A New Year underway
After almost a year and a half away from writing I am back at it again and it feels wonderful. I have three new books coming out in 2017.
March, His Amish Teacher
June, Their Pretend Amish Courtship and in December, Amish Christmas Twins.
I have moved back to the farm where I grew up to become a full-time caregiver to my 86 year old father. Life has a way of throwing us curves. Happily, it still leaves me time to write.
I hope the new year is off to a good start for you. Shall we talk about resolutions? No, let's don't.
Pat
March, His Amish Teacher
June, Their Pretend Amish Courtship and in December, Amish Christmas Twins.
I have moved back to the farm where I grew up to become a full-time caregiver to my 86 year old father. Life has a way of throwing us curves. Happily, it still leaves me time to write.
I hope the new year is off to a good start for you. Shall we talk about resolutions? No, let's don't.
Pat
December 5, 2013
USA Today Bestseller
I'm so excited. I just learned that I hit the USA Today Bestseller list. My e-book bundle, Christmas Brides of Amish Country debuted at #133 on Dec. 5th 2013.
The bundle is available for 99 cent for Kindle, Nook and from Harlequin.com.
It's a dream come true.
The bundle is available for 99 cent for Kindle, Nook and from Harlequin.com.
It's a dream come true.
November 18, 2013
Amish Christmas e-books sale
If you haven't already read my books, An Amish Christmas, The Christmas Quilt and A Hope Springs Christmas, you can get all three e-books as a bundle for 99 cents. The books are available for download from Amazon, Barnes and Noble and from Harlequin.com.
It's a great deal.
It's a great deal.
May 5, 2013
A Career Highpoint
Pat Davids here wishing you all a beautiful day.
I recently had a career highpoint. It happened Friday, May 3rd, 2013 in Kansas City, MO. On Friday afternoon, I was awarded the RT Review's Choice Award for the Best Love Inspired Novel of 2012. What an honor to have my book, A HOME FOR HANNAH, chosen from among all the Love Inspired Books that were out last year. It truly was the highpoint of my career to date. The day was made extra special by the fact that my daughter and my best friend were in the audience watching me make my way across the stage to accept my award and give a small speech. I don't mind public speaking, but it was a big audience and the lights were so bright.
Lest you think all this hoopla has gone to my head, I assure you it hasn't. The video my daughter took of the event clearly captured my grace, my poise and my slip showing from beneath the hem of my dress. Ah well, it was my career highpoint anyway.
I have to wonder how someone picks the best book out of so many great books. I couldn't do it. I'm happy the reviews at RT magazine chose A HOME FOR HANNAH, but I don't believe for a minute it was a better book than so many other fine stories. Novels resonate with people for many different reasons. For some, it is a great plot, for others, it is loveable or memorable character or an especially sweet or emotional scene.
Could you do it? Could you name the best Love Inspired book you read last year? Well, here is your chance. Let me offer you the opportunity to name your favorite Love Inspired Book of 2012 or of all time. You can tell me why you feel that way, but you don't have to. There are many great Love Inspired authors, so let's spotlight some of their amazing work.
I recently had a career highpoint. It happened Friday, May 3rd, 2013 in Kansas City, MO. On Friday afternoon, I was awarded the RT Review's Choice Award for the Best Love Inspired Novel of 2012. What an honor to have my book, A HOME FOR HANNAH, chosen from among all the Love Inspired Books that were out last year. It truly was the highpoint of my career to date. The day was made extra special by the fact that my daughter and my best friend were in the audience watching me make my way across the stage to accept my award and give a small speech. I don't mind public speaking, but it was a big audience and the lights were so bright.
Lest you think all this hoopla has gone to my head, I assure you it hasn't. The video my daughter took of the event clearly captured my grace, my poise and my slip showing from beneath the hem of my dress. Ah well, it was my career highpoint anyway.
I have to wonder how someone picks the best book out of so many great books. I couldn't do it. I'm happy the reviews at RT magazine chose A HOME FOR HANNAH, but I don't believe for a minute it was a better book than so many other fine stories. Novels resonate with people for many different reasons. For some, it is a great plot, for others, it is loveable or memorable character or an especially sweet or emotional scene.
Could you do it? Could you name the best Love Inspired book you read last year? Well, here is your chance. Let me offer you the opportunity to name your favorite Love Inspired Book of 2012 or of all time. You can tell me why you feel that way, but you don't have to. There are many great Love Inspired authors, so let's spotlight some of their amazing work.
May 2, 2013
One of life's curve balls.
I have been quietly settled as a widow in my three bedroom house for a year and a half now. I have a dog who keeps me company. One day last month, I mentioned to Sadie Sue, my lovely yellow Lab, that it was sort of lonely with just the two of us. She opened one eye and wagged her tail which I took to mean she agreed. I had no idea that life was about to throw me a curve ball.
The phone call came out of the blue. My daughter had left her husband and could she and her children stay with me. OF COURSE. Come over, I said, wondering how long this tiff would last.
Turns out it's much more than a tiff.
My three bedroom house has become a four bedroom house as I had to turn my den into a bedroom for her son. My tidy little office is now a bedroom for her daughter and my office furniture has been squeezed into my bedroom.
Everyone is struggling to adjust except Sadie Sue. She carries her ball from person to person. Someone is always willing to play with her, pet her, make over her, and she couldn't be happier.
Another curve ball from life. The only thing I can say is, "Yes, Lord, I'm still in the game."
The phone call came out of the blue. My daughter had left her husband and could she and her children stay with me. OF COURSE. Come over, I said, wondering how long this tiff would last.
Turns out it's much more than a tiff.
My three bedroom house has become a four bedroom house as I had to turn my den into a bedroom for her son. My tidy little office is now a bedroom for her daughter and my office furniture has been squeezed into my bedroom.
Everyone is struggling to adjust except Sadie Sue. She carries her ball from person to person. Someone is always willing to play with her, pet her, make over her, and she couldn't be happier.
Another curve ball from life. The only thing I can say is, "Yes, Lord, I'm still in the game."
July 15, 2012
Now And Until The End of Time
No mention of the people and things that have shaped and inspired me as a writer would be complete without mentioning Dave. My own true love. My husband has been gone a year now. It doesn't seem possible. It isn't fair. It isn't right, but it is. I still miss him every day and every night.
Fifteen years ago, when I first told him I wanted to write a novel, he said, "I think you'd be good at that." His off-hand acceptance of my until-that-moment-secret-dream was just like him. He didn't believe in hoopla. He firmly believed that if I set my mind to do something, I could do it. He had faith in me. What an awesome gift that is.
He read my first ever chapter and said, "This is good." I was ecstatic. He read my second chapter and said, "Well, this is filler." I was crushed, but he was right. There was more to writing a book than I realized. His honest comment sent me on a search for information and education. That led me to my writing group, The Wichita Area Romance Authors.
I never finished that first book. It was too bad to save. Dave never forgave me for that. He liked that first chapter and he wanted to know how the story ended. He never read a single one of my books. Oh, he tried once, but he preferred stories with vampires, assassins, blood and gore, but he proudly told people that his wife was a romance writer. I can remember how surprised and proud I was when I overheard him bragging on me to his out-of-state cousin.
It wasn't all love and kisses. He didn't like the way deadlines stressed me. He thought editors who made me do revisions were jerks and he offered to call them and tell them so many a time. I unplugged the phone. He tolerated but didn't like it when I went to conferences or out-of-town book signings. Yet he understood how much I wanted to succeed. Every now and then, he'd walk past me when I was watching TV or playing Free Cell on the computer and he'd scowl at me. He'd say, "Shouldn't you be writing?"
Yes, Dear, I should be writing. I'm going to get back to it right after I post this blog. I love you, honey. Now and until the end of time.
Fifteen years ago, when I first told him I wanted to write a novel, he said, "I think you'd be good at that." His off-hand acceptance of my until-that-moment-secret-dream was just like him. He didn't believe in hoopla. He firmly believed that if I set my mind to do something, I could do it. He had faith in me. What an awesome gift that is.
He read my first ever chapter and said, "This is good." I was ecstatic. He read my second chapter and said, "Well, this is filler." I was crushed, but he was right. There was more to writing a book than I realized. His honest comment sent me on a search for information and education. That led me to my writing group, The Wichita Area Romance Authors.
I never finished that first book. It was too bad to save. Dave never forgave me for that. He liked that first chapter and he wanted to know how the story ended. He never read a single one of my books. Oh, he tried once, but he preferred stories with vampires, assassins, blood and gore, but he proudly told people that his wife was a romance writer. I can remember how surprised and proud I was when I overheard him bragging on me to his out-of-state cousin.
It wasn't all love and kisses. He didn't like the way deadlines stressed me. He thought editors who made me do revisions were jerks and he offered to call them and tell them so many a time. I unplugged the phone. He tolerated but didn't like it when I went to conferences or out-of-town book signings. Yet he understood how much I wanted to succeed. Every now and then, he'd walk past me when I was watching TV or playing Free Cell on the computer and he'd scowl at me. He'd say, "Shouldn't you be writing?"
Yes, Dear, I should be writing. I'm going to get back to it right after I post this blog. I love you, honey. Now and until the end of time.
