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Welcome Spring

It actually feels like spring today.  Looks like it, too.  Okay, so it’s a little too soon for the snapdragons, but because I love them, I’m keeping them.  The mini daffodils that were blooming under the snow a couple weeks ago are still blooming in the flower bed, but they’re very lonely.  Still, it was nice enough today to open the kitchen window while I had the oven on, just so the house didn’t feel like an oven.

I think the craziness at work may settle down a little this week, so my fried brain will have a chance to recover.  I didn’t get a single thing accomplished yesterday.  Nothing.  So all of the weekend household chores had to happen today.  Which is why dinner was a one dish affair, prepped and stuffed into the oven hours ago.  The laundry is ongoing, but will be done soon, too.  Which means a little writing maybe, before The Walking Dead season finale.

I mentioned elsewhere that I’ve always looked forward to the season finale for this show–it’s been one of my favorites since it started–but this season has made me consider giving it up.  Actually, that isn’t true.  This started at the end of last season when the finale consisted of the characters driving around and around to avoid blocked roads instead of going home, until the bad guy got them.  The story is dragging, characters I’ve loved have been doing really stupid things, and the bad guy is rampaging all over, unchecked.  I hate it.  So I have a lot riding on tonight’s extra-long episode.  I want to love it again.  It would suck to have invested seven years of my television viewing in it and have to quit now.

But because I’ve been hating the writing all season, it’s been good for one thing, anyway–making me take a look at my own writing.  Am I keeping the story moving?  Are my characters behaving like morons or the intelligent humans I’ve claimed they are?  That probably wasn’t what the show’s writers were going for, but at least it hasn’t been a total waste of my Sunday nights since October.  I probably wouldn’t mind so much, except it is the only show I watch live anymore.  We got rid of our satellite service last year (which replaced cable eons ago), and went to streaming services instead–why pay for so many channels we’re not watching, right?–but we had to find a way to still see this one show.

So I’m crossing my fingers, but not holding my breath.  And in the meantime, I’ve got some writing time till that starts, and I’m going to make good use of it.  But before I go, how about a little snippet of tiger shifter #1?


Harley felt better since he’d made up his mind. When he pulled up in front of the house, Tessa was just climbing out of her car. He grinned and shoved his own door open. “Hey, Tessa.” She stopped walking at the front step. “Hi, Harley.” She looked tired. Aside from the dark smudges beneath her eyes, she was too pale. “Take pity on me.” He strode toward her. She frowned, shifting her weight to one side. “What?” “I’m starving. Don’t make me eat alone.” “Harley, I really just–” “Come on, honey. It’s only dinner. Somewhere casual, so you don’t even need to change.” She’d never seen him relentless before, but he could go there if necessary. Clearly, she wanted to refuse. “You need some supper, too.” “Oh, Harley.” She sighed. “All right, but just something quick. I’m exhausted, and I wanted to go over to the house to do some clean-up.” Point to Harley. He caught her elbow and steered her to his car. “When did you eat last?” He eased her into the passenger seat. She frowned. “I don’t know. Last night, maybe. No, I had a granola bar earlier while I was in a meeting with Amy and David.” He tsked at her. “You’re probably starving, too.” He closed the door, mentally congratulating himself for getting this far. And with far less hassle than he’d anticipated. She must really be tired. He slid into his own seat and started the car again. “Anything in particular you’re hungry for?” He sneaked a sidelong glance at her and found she’d leaned her head back on the seat. “It really doesn’t matter. We can go wherever you like.”

All sorts of inappropriate ideas sprang to mind, but he kept them to himself. It was far too soon to share those. “All right. Did you have a better day today?” Small talk. He could manage that till they got to the restaurant. By the time he pulled into a parking space at Botticelli’s, Tessa had roused herself to polite conversation, and Harley thought this evening might turn out pretty well.


Here’s hoping for a great week ahead for all of us!


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