Oh, Lord!

Well, my excitement over baseball season lasted a whole 19 hours. Is it football season yet?

As some of you might know, the Atlanta Braves crushed my hapless Cubbies 16-5. And really, it wasn't even that close. Ace (ahem) Carlos Zambrano looked good for exactly two hitters before the Evil Carlos took over. From there, things went downhill quicker than I did that time I accidentally went down the black-diamond ski slope at Chestnut Mountain (that didn't turn out too well, either).

Anyway, enough of all this depressing baseball stuff. Let's talk about writing.

Erm. Uh. Well.

Okay, not much going on there, either. I've sent off three electronic versions of the mss and will be printing four paper copies in the next couple of days. And then?

Well, then I wait. Because maybe seven revisions aren't enough. Maybe, just maybe, I'll need to dive back into the thing and spend the next fifty-six years reworking my novel.

Or not. Who knows?

Despite my obvious post-Cubs debacle depression, I don't really feel that bad tonight. I have a finished manuscript, two more started and a wife who's gonna be a roller derby babe. I mean, really, how much more can a person ask for in life?

Except a freaking Cubs victory on Wednesday!

Onward.