This is the first weekend I've had home in three weeks. I went to the New Jersey Romance Writers conference last weekend (Sherlynn Kenyon gave an inspiring speech, which I wish I had taken notes on, because she said she was retiring it, but, basically it was about believing in yourself and never giving up. She told the story of how her home was almost in foreclosure, she had medical bills up to the ceiling and hadn't sold a book in over a year. She has one stamp in her wallet and she received a list of editors names from the RWA newsletter and found that a woman who had once been her agent was now an editor, mailed a partial to her and sold her novel) and had a mid-week one-day trip to Chicago to close a deal. So, I was exhausted this weekend and spent a good part of it sleeping in and then sorting through the carry-on debris of my life, meaning books and bags and pens collected at the various writers' conferences.
Also decided that this was the weekend to separate the summer from the winter stuff and box it up again.
I guess in an odd way I'm thankful that the Yankees aren't in the play-offs because it gives me a little extra time to catch up. (I am a devoted Yankees fan from April through October, but I watch no sports the rest of the year, so I guess this is when I do most of my reading). For the record, I do not hate the Red Sox. I have always said that if the Yankees didn't exist, and the Mets weren't playing, I'd be a Red Sox fan (they are always a good team, and I do love to beat them), so I find myself in the unusual predicament of rooting for the emeny because I cannot bring myself to root for a team with such a racist logo in this day and age.
And I have decided that this is the time to dig out that copy of THE GIRL WHO LOVED TOM GORDON, so that is what I'll be reading for pleasure.