Not sure why . . .

My hands are tired this morning, and I'm not sure why.  They don't ache or hurt, they're just tired.  I'm a bit loggy myself, and no it isn't because of the fair, though I did go last night despite the pop-up thunderstorms that plagued the area.  The first band of storms hit us when we were in the education barn, which was cool since I got to watch them sheer a few sheep while waiting for the rain to pass, which it did–for a few hours, anyway.

Last night was barn nigh, touring the animals and displays while eating a carmel apple.  Tonight I hit the games.  :-)  My favorite night is game night, but I have to work myself up to it.  I'm such a goober.

Worked on the Trent/Jenks novella yesterday, tweaking it so little that I think I'm going to let it rest until my editor sees it.  That makes two finished in the cabinet of awesomeness.  I want one more look at Meg before I call her done, and want the weekend to think about it, so today, I'm pulling out something I've temporally titled PET SHOP BOYS and get that reworked today, or maybe Tempson Estates.  Everything lately is in third person, which feels weird but is getting better.  I always write my dialog in third person, so shifting gears isn't as bad as you might think.  I still like first person best.  It's more of a challenge to tell the reader what's going on without making your protagonist look like an idiot for not realizing it.  I also get to spend more time with the big-bad-ugly.

Tempson Estates . . .  Yeah.  You guys need to see that one. . . .  That one is pretty cool.