Tonight came too soon. I'll get to it earlier tomorrow. I was a bit paralyzed today, which brings me to a bit. Sort of. Kind of. I read an item in the NYT last week commenting on this kind of waffling that's going on now. Writers are hedging their bets or softening the blow or backing away from definitive statements.
I sort of know what you mean.
It's kind of difficult.
Maybe you're right.
Like that.
Well, I'm a mite tired so I'm going to bed.
Now.
On the whole, a good day, full and mixed. The big news which I haven't absorbed yet: I have "pre-cancerous" bumps on my nose that a dermatologist treated with frozen nitrogen. My nose is going to look worse before it gets better, but it doesn't hurt. I also had a pink bump on my elbow. Pink is bad, according to the dermatologist. So my elbow was frozen and she cut out a piece of it for biopsy and I CAN'T SWIM FOR THREE WEEKS!!! Not even allowed to get wet for 48 hours.
Well, now, the good news is I can go back go bed and do more work in bed in the morning, and heaven knows I have a lot to do. I must pedal more to make up for no swimming. That means more mysteries and detective stories, thrillers, whatever. And more walks - hope the weather holds. That will be good.
But it was a nice day. I felt quite buoyant and talked to everyone on the street and in the stores I went into and everyone was so friendly and responsive and interesting.
Tonight I went to the Awards Night of the Writers' Trust. The awards are serious money: 20,000 dollars and 25,000 dollars, and I don't begrudge a cent of it because I know how hard writers work. I'm not envious either, though I wish some of the recognition and success would trickle down to me. Ah, well, I'm very good at being humble.
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