Marsha Sisolak

I would have accepted mine as I sat in my car with the engine running.

For there was a pop. And then hissing.

And then CLOUDS OF STEAM.

I did what any reasonable person would do: I turned off the engine, using every swear word I know, and called the Spousling to come look under the hood, because no way in hell was I opening it after that eruption.

And after he’d made the determination that he could not easily repair the car on the spot, AAA did not come in the promised thirty minutes. It was closer to an hour. Are we surprised?

I made it home a little before 7P, only to run right out and retrieve the Spousling from the mechanic’s.

There was writing, but not much. Certainly not enough to count words. Definitely not enough for coherency.

At least the computer has not exploded.

Yet.

But I wouldn’t ask me to touch anything mechanical for a while, because, obviously, I am cursed.

Still no voice. Or some, but by the end of the school day, I’m channeling Tennessee Ernie Ford. It’ll be interesting on Sunday doing solos if I’m still singing bass.

Today’s little pop upside the head was my car battery refusing to do its job. At 5P. When I wanted to go home.

No problem. I dialed AAA.

Cell phone decided to die right then and not reboot.

Fine. I borrowed a damn phone and called.

Someone would be there in an hour.

Fine. I gave them the school phone number, ran back inside (keeping the door open and checking every five minutes just in case) and when AAA called back forty minutes later to verify my address, she told me the truck would be there in fifteen minutes.

So I left the classroom and went to my car.

And missed the other call back by AAA. About thirty minutes into sitting in my car, I wondered… gee, had they called again?

Sure had.

Went back to the car and checked to see if the cell had decided to turn itself on again, which it had, and called AAA back. After a bit of miscommunication (really, AAA, Fillmore is not Sylmar, especially when I spell it out to you twice) she told me that whatever streets they had written down did not cross like I had claimed.

REALLY.

It’s awfully hard to miss an entire damn elementary school. (And no, AAA, that’s S-E-S-P-E, not S-E-S-T-E.)

But no problem! She’d put a rush on it, and the truck would be there in thirty minutes.

The only good news was that the truck was there in ten, got me jumped, and I drove the damn thing home. The Spousling will take care of installing the battery tomorrow. Along with looking at the right front tire that apparently decided to develop a slow leak. I had the AAA guy put air into while he was there.

And now, I am home, choir rehearsal is over, and I am going to bed. No writing, because I didn’t get home until 7P and writing was the last thing in my brain at that point.

Actually, I don’t have a brain.

It was eaten by school and the events of the day. Which means I should go to bed.

B-E-D just in case you can’t hear, AAA.

First draft as a short story (failed short, mind you) was at Clarion in 2003.

So I’m starting draft #3 even as I’m working through the last third of draft #2. And after all this time, Mareet reveals that she’s from the enemy culture.

Who knew?

All it took was Kalim using her mother tongue whenever they wanted to speak secretly, and oh, yes, those warriors just happening to use the same language where Kalim could overhear them.

Because, d’oh, they’re spies for the warriors. And somehow Rakeen got killed because their plans failed.

Well. Glad to know that. Took the brain long enough.

Now if only Harley will not bark at oh-dark-3A, and I don’t have volcano go boom! dreams (Can SPQR Blues please come back? Please, oh, please?), and my nose unstuffs so I can breathe, maybe I will achieve additional enlightenment tomorrow.

More upsetting news from another talented friend who has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her mastectomy’s later this week and she has three children under age ten. Positive thoughts and prayers for her recovery are truly appreciated.

And this can just stop now. It’s getting old. :(

ReportCardsParentConferencesThanksgivingPumpkinPiesAndThenMoreBesides.

Not to mention, a week behind.

I’m putting on my pjs and watching Glee and DWTS.

(And in terms of novel, I had the weirdest dream this morning with mummified chickens in wicker baskets and partially chewed puckered livers and mummified I don’t want to knows in open carved balls, both found in underground tombs.

Yeah. It’s going in. Somehow. And if you know what it means, don’t tell me. I’m still on shuddering side of having one of those chickens in a basket fall open and scooping up the rotting pieces to try to stuff them back.)