Home at Last

Coming home is always the best part of any trip, provided the house is still standing and the water works, the toilet still flushes, and no squirrels have busted in. It's delightfully cool here in New England compared to Arkansas.

Nose to the grindstone today on Victory revisions, which I have ignored shamefully since I finished the thing. I don't think they will take me too long. One reader said I could "milk" the ending more and I may consider adding more to it. I was very distracted as I wrote the ending and I feared it would show.

Only 4 weeks until the shining eyes of my new freshmen look up at me. That means a syllabus for each class. Ugh. They're not hard to do, just tedious. And since I've been Living the Dream, it will be refreshing to get back into the swing, though I never thought I'd say that.

I'm hosting a Family Event on Labor Day and that means extensive housecleaning, ugh again, uber ugh. Lawnmowing I may be able to palm off on one of my offspring.

Got talking recently with a group of writers about themes in one's own work and how you might not even know they're there. Old Ernie Hemingway, for example and just in my own observation, always talks about paying the bill, settling up, giving the bartender his due. I always notice it in his books. I think in my own work, well, not for me to say, aside from people slumping all the time. I love that word "slump" and seem to use it a lot. I'm slumping now, actually, and usually do. I'm a sloppy bag of goods.

Glad to be home, though.
A bientot
becky