What Happened to February?

If a month, say February, for example, has only 28 days, one can’t be blamed if one is sipping on a cuppa and glances over at the calendar to see March staring in one’s face and realizes one has completely skipped the monthly post on one’s personal blog.

So let’s just move on as if nothing’s amiss here. But February did seem to dash by. Or maybe that’s just me? I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning and/or organizing around the old Hall House AND listening to a lot of music whilst doing so and time has just flown! Also, I think perhaps I owe the dearly departed Mister Man an apology.

See, that man would sit in his office working, blasting his rock ‘n roll favorites way beyond the air waves of that room. Now, I like rock ‘n roll as much as the next person. Maybe more since I worked in radio back in the day. BUT.

There is a time and place for listening to Iron Butterfly and it’s not when one’s writer wife is trying to think up the next brilliant Great American Novel. Or even the next blog post for the Muffin.

It’s not that Mister Man set out to purposefully sabotage my great thoughts. It’s just that music was a necessary soundtrack for his work and so when I would (nicely) ask him to shut off the &*^& music, he would argue (nicely) that I should go elsewhere to work. Things would not so nicely escalate and eventually, he’d turn down the music a smidge because he was after all, working and actually making money, and apparently that carried more weight.

Whatever. The point is, since the first of the year and my Major Cleaning and Organizing Frenzy, I’ve found that listening to music has been very conducive to getting the work done and keeping me in a very fine mood. And certain work (such as emptying kitchen cabinets) requires ABBA, whilst other work, say writing this here post, requires Kris Kristofferson. And for optimum efficiency, the music must…well, blast throughout the house.

So, sorry, Mister Man, I get it now. And you can get all caught up with my February brilliant thoughts over at the Muffin. There’s Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign (and I’m working away on that manuscript! You’ll get it when you read the post.) and Letting Go of the SPECTACULAR.

(And thanks, Mister Man and Kris Kristofferson, for inspiring this February post. You heard me. February. You want to argue, take it up with the Calendar Powers That Be.)

Friday’s Fun Find: A Bedtime Story and a Contest

When Libby does it, it's cute.

When Libby does it, it’s cute.

So if you’re friends with me on Facebook, you may have already seen this little exchange between me and Mister Man the other night. I had brought my laptop to bed with me because a friend asked me to read a recently finished manuscript. But as it happens, I, too, recently finished a manuscript and mentioned said completed manuscript to Mister Man. And here is what happened next:

Mister Man said, “Read your book to me.”
Me: “No.”
He: “Really, I want to hear it.”
He: “Seriously.”
Me: (Sighing) “Okay, I’ll read the first chapter.”
After three pages (mostly dialogue)…
He: “How long is this chapter, anyway?”
One and a half pages later…
Me: That’s the end of the chapter.”
He: “That was pretty good, I guess. So how many chapters does this book have?”
Me: “Thirty.”
He: “THIRTY!! That seems like an awful lot of chapters to make the poor kids read.”

Yep, he’s supportive that way.

The next night, Mister Man asked again if I’d read a chapter to him. To be honest, he’d been a pretty good sport about the ribbing he’d taken from the Facebook thing. So against my better judgement, I started the next chapter.

Which is also only five pages.

Five pages.

He was snoring (though he swears he was not) when I hit the end of page two. So last night, LAST NIGHT, he asked again if I’d read to him from my book.

“You only want me to read so you can sleep,” says I. “The minute I start talking, you start snoozing.”

“Not true,” says he. “I really like that book.”

“What’s the name of the book?”

“Uh…’night!”

Maybe you have a book, too. I don’t know who you can read it to but you can send it to the Master of the Inkpot Competition (David Fickling Books)¬†and maybe get it read by someone who will stay awake long enough to get through the title.