It Might Seem Like the Last Day of the Weekend...

but I've got one more to go. Mr. Boss asked if I could work Tuesday instead of Monday, I said I could, so I'll have a four-day weekend. It feels luxurious.

I did it today. I got my query letter, one-page synopsis, and the first 3 chapters of Horizon all put together with the "I"s dotted and the "T"s crossed, and emailed a query submission to each of the 3 agents I met in Madison. As soon as I sent the last one I thought I was going to puke but I survived with my dinner and dignity intact. Now once I get back from Poetry Camp I'll pull out the retired spies novel and see what I can do to make that into an actual readable story. This writing thing is never ending!

May 16 & 17--August Macke, The Turkish Jeweler. "Necklace, miss?" A dark brown hand holding a shell necklace appeared in front of Pam as she left her resort's property. She barely suppressed a cry at the suddenness of its appearance. She had been warned by friends and acquaintances about the pushy nature of the islanders, and there was even a mention of the persistence of the street hawkers on a sign in the resort lobby. She had spoken to a couple who had been on the island for over two weeks who were very proud of the fact that they had never left the property. Pam shook her head, thinking that she wanted a real island experience, not one made by some Disney imagineer, some artificial vacation world. She hadn't got a hundred feet down the road from the resort gate when she started to reconsider the wisdom of striking out alone. The crowd of hawkers grew with every step, men wanting to sell her shell jewelry, women wanting to braid her hair or give her an aloe massage. She slid her purse around in front and crossed her arms over it. She walked slower and slower in the growing crowd of brown bodies, the constant feel of hands touching her hair, her skin made her feel as if she had walked into a web. Her "no, thanks" and "not interested" got smaller and weaker until she was keening like a sick animal and finally she fell to her knees in the rough gravel and weeds of the roadside and folded herself into herself.

Yikes.
--Barbara