I was eyebrow deep in edits for When the Dead Speak. That pretty much sums up my Monday, it wasn't too bad, and thank goodness for editors, because when it's pointed out that I used a word a gazillion times (maybe I'm exaggerating a teensy bit there), I am THRILLED to be called on it. Seriously. I don't want a book going out with something like that in it. Edits might melt my brain, but I am happy to do them since they make the story better. Now, the problem is, when I look at those words that were used too often, my mind goes blank. Nothing but the dull metallic clanking of dying, dropping brain cells then. It is an adventure.
Other than that, the kids killed my straightener, and I am now the bearer-- or wearer-- of bad, big Texas hair. And yup, no one has a clue what happened. There's been a chorus of "It wasn't me" (Remember that song, anyone?) reverberating throughout the house then nesting in the big hair. I can't even put it in a ponytail, too short. Ah well. That's why baseball caps exist.
Too much excitement for y'all? I'll stop babbling now and get back to work:)