This is the view to the right. Past the sapling thingy and the white picket fence (yes, we have a white picket fence), it gets more cultivated, but it's still pretty lush--there be wild blackberries.
I think of the shadowed area right beneath those three trees in the background as our portal into Faerie, where pixies and hobs come from who want to play with Hobkin. For anyone who's read "The Storyteller's Wife," this is what inspired Janie's backyard toadstool ring. Next winter I'm making Matthew remove the garish thermometer (installed by the previous owner) as it's totally wrong. But we can't get to it easily during the green season.
And here's Hobkin eating a hardboiled egg. It's only an occasional treat food. He loves "egg days." Tends to get a bit messy, though.
Got my check from H.P. Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror for "Within Your Soul I Sightless See." Yay! Need to make a bank run.
Also got a rejection from Cricket for a reworked concept they'd rejected before, but suggested they might look at again if I wanted to re-visit it. Bummed at not making the sale, of course, but my Cricket editor always has such nice things to say: ". . .we editors couldn't keep ourselves from commenting, again, on how well you write." Takes the sting right out. And she reads my blog!
But now I really need to get myself in gear on the folktale rewrite so I can send it out to Cricket ASAP. Toward that end, I rolled up my sleeves and went through all of the Critters critiques. My wingstubs started aching just from cutting and pasting them all into a Word document! Wrote thank you notes too, but only made a dent in them. Decided it would be better to save my keyboard time for actual writing rather than polite gestures of etiquette. Hoping to have the rewrite done and the manuscript out the door by *checks calendar . . . Monday's a holiday, so . . .* Saturday. Or Tuesday.
New words: Editing. Many passes.
Club 100 For Writers
(Starting over again. WAH!)