I Don't Like Your Beard

I'm on book deadline. Again. That's why I haven't been around here much. Sorry about that. I have a very short period in which to get this one done so by the time I hit my goal every day, the last thing in the world I want to do is sit at my computer any more. (Fortunately I bought a fancy chair a few books back. The first three memoirs were written on this stupid wooden IKEA desk chair that didn't bend, flex, swivel, or give in any way. Hate that chair. Hate that chair SO MUCH. Yet when I finally got an Aeron, Fletch wouldn't let me throw Ol' Woody away, claiming that someday it would go in the Jen Lancaster Museum, next to my Barbie head and good burying shovel.) (I am currently unaware of any pending museum plans.) (I think he may have been drinking when he mentioned it.) Anyway, in my last post, a couple of things were going on - I was deeply engrossed in a stupid hidden object game and I didn't have a new literary agent. Now I have a fine new literary agent and I'm still deeply engrossed in a stupid hidden object game only now I'm on Level 32. (Am very impressed with my own ability to find hidden lotus flowers and yachts.) What else? Fletch has grown a beard so I've been quite busy actively hating it for a couple of weeks now. Dogs are fine. Libby ran off with...