(Somehow this posted with the wrong date--it being Tuesday, May 1st. I am not yet savvy enough to change the header...)
Oh the marvelosity of the day.
I have fired my agent--gently, & with all good wishes of course--& called my editor (of the hardcover edition of Growing Wings) who has been waiting to see another book from me. We had a nice visit & then I actually printed & sent her the novel the same day. How cool is that? Moi--who used to wear the scarlet "P" for "Procrastinator."
& I painted in my newly(half)cleaned studio space while soaking my feet in a cool little vibraty foot bath that I've had for a long time but haven't used much in the last few years.
& I had lunch with a friend recently returned from Thailand. We're going to take a batik class together on Saturday.
&--going back almost to the beginning of blogging as I know it; see "Let the fingers (and palms) do the talking"--I have figured out something about the ghosts who were keeping me from the full expression of my creativity. It was indeed the moving boxes. Every time I looked at them, or tried hard not to look at them, I imagined all the things to deal with lurking inside the cardboard. Ghosts? In the Schroedinger's cat sense of the word.
What is the half-life of the past? You can only find out by opening the boxes and dealing with the (living or dead) things inside. If it weren't for my executive assistant, I'd still be haunted by all those wavicles. As it is, half of them are put in their places, or at least scheduled to be.
Blog alternative:
38. Go soak your feet.
