Friday night, my husband wanted a date. Yes, I mean with me. We had dinner at my favorite restaurant, and discussed what we might do next. On the way home, I discovered what old fuddy-duddies we've become. I looked at him, and said, "I'm tired." He looked at me and said, "So am I." We decided to skip anything else and just head home and get some sleep. It was 10:30pm. See? Fuddy-duddies.
Over dinner, we did talk a bit more about my writing. That makes this entry writing-related, right? Ever since I got it through his head I was actually doing this, he seems to want to make sure I understand he's supporting my efforts.
Anyway, I reiterated to him the plan for my first book is to start submitting to agents by the end of this month (I didn't say he listens all the time, and it doesn't always sink in, but he tries). We talked about pen names, and he asked about mine. I didn't tell him I had one. Not that he'd care or anything, but I didn't want to hit him with everything all at once. I did tell him I would be choosing one. Not that I dislike my name, but I think I'd prefer to have a name that doesn't sound like a city in Washington State. He looked at me kind of funny until I reminded him that his nephew thought I had been named after a school he'd attended in Oklahoma.
My husband suggested a name, that I must admit I really liked. Not using it yet, but I'm keeping it "on file" in case I ever need another name. I explained to him that I'll be keeping my own first name. I'll give it another week or two then hit him with the name, since I told him I was kicking a couple around with my CPs.
Saturday night, my neighbors had a party. They used to have a bunch of them, but the years passed, we all had kids (or in my case, the kids got older), and the parties became less frequent and only on special days. Last night's party, however, was a "just because" gathering.
Their parties always end up with the men (most of whom are firefighters) down by the garage with a bonfire, and the women up by or in the house. Now, normally I find the men's conversations more interesting than the women's, but it was too dadgumm cold for me to head out back. I stuck with the women. Glad I did.
The conversation ranged from Pilates (including drunken demonstrations) to plastic surgery to demonstrations of plastic surgery results to waxing to vibrating chairs. I didn't participate in any of the demonstrations because I've never had plastic surgery and I'm not as limber as the women actually doing the demonstrating. But it was a lot of fun.
Oh, and my new red-streaked hair was a hit.
WHAT I'M READING: "Midnight in Ruby Bayou" by Elizabeth Lowell