Words are diamonds, the writer is the diamond cutter.
Wilbur Smith, On Leopard Rock
Cooler days. They say we’ve returned to seasonal norms, but it feels cool to me after the string of scorchers we enjoyed recently. How quickly we become accustomed to things. Ah well, the heat will return, in time; this is Kamloops after all.
Mosquitoes are curbing time spent outdoors; I’m covered in bites. I don’t recall ever seeing them as bad as they are right now. They get in the house, they hitch rides in the car, and they seem to wait by the front door ready to swarm.
The other day Gerry and I were tending to the backyard garden and it was the most unpleasant gardening experience ever. We rushed, and swatted, and couldn’t wait to get back in the house.
Joe, the inner critic, has been dealt with (‘nuff said), and I’m making good progress on the SFD of my WIP (writerspeak for: exceeding daily wordcount goals).
Today: heading into the manuscript, taking Maya to the vet for her annual checkup, and whatever else comes along.
Oh yeah. And a strata meeting this evening. Ugh.