myself, the cook

And lo, I did cook dinner for a selected few last night, for Peter's birthday. And it was my first attempt at prime rib.

And lo, the select masses were pleased, and said unto me "this was a restaurant quality meal." Meaning a nice restaurant, not HoJos.

"Thank you," I said. "Now go into the kitchen and sink your hands into the dishwasher suds."

*grin*

Used the new china for the first time too. Very nice. Felt all grown up and everything. Sca-ree. Will be even moreso after the silverware arrives. Yep, ten years after we first looked at patterns, Peter and I settled on china. This, even more so than the thought of a Cubs-Sox series, is indicative of the End being Nigh.

And then this morning I made waffles for them as stayed over, and while we were eating them an alarm went off in the neighborhood. "Blaaaat Blaaat. Fire. Leave immediately. Fire. Leave immediately." After a minute or so of this, we decided to call 911. "There's a fire alwam going off..." "At *our address.*?" "No, off *another street* nearby."

A few minutes later a cop car roared by, lights flashing, and a few minutes after that we heard (and saw) fire trucks arriving. We declined to go investigate -- waffles were more interesting. Shows our priorities, huh?

story trauma, story joy

So there's this story. And it's been to three major magazine editors. One hated it. One liked it with reservations, and one liked it a lot but couldn't quite close the deal. So I ran the story by my writers' group. Nope, they couldn't really make any useful suggestions. Ran it by a friend of mine who used to be a major magazine editor. She said "I would have bought it." Once I unwrapped my hands from around her neck (joke. Mostly) she made a suggestion, and I went back to the third editor who had also made a suggestion, and I said "so, would you be willing to take a look at a revision?" (this is generally a no-no for editors unless they ask to see it again) She said yes.

So I'm trying to revise the story, changing what she had problems with while not hurting anything she liked. And it's a damed difficult thing, like maneuvering on a tightrope when someone's greased your shoes.

But it's a good story. For once, I am confident it's a good story. (I know, die of shock, all of you.) So it will find a home, sooner rather than later. I just would rather it be with this particular editor, because I haven't cracked that market yet and damn it, I want to.


So that's been the work in progress. But there was also joy -- the countersigned contracts for the books arrived in the mail yesterday. Totally unexpected -- wasn't expecting to see 'em for another month. I'm told I looked poleaxed. :-D
Gah. Okay, this is really happening, isn't it?