Be wery, wery qwiet...
Whee, back from vacation, sunburn intact and finally caught (more or less) up with posts.
I'm goin' job-hunting. I'm fairly amazed at how many of the places I've applied for have at least interviewed me, but it's a bit frustrating not to hear back from any but one that turned me down. I hate to quit without something to move on towards, but On-Call, No-Hour Limbo no worky. Leastwise I can bug the kennel I interviewed at again tomorrow when I spring Clover, and look forward to the bookstore interview on Friday. (The only potential problem I'd have with working in the bookstore is that I'd probably blow half my paycheck as soon as I got it.)
I also hunt wascally wabbits. Preview from latest WIP that's going somewhere:
Eowyn wondered sometimes, why he had so readily agreed to give their daughter a Rohirric name. It was obvious that he deeply loved and respected his mother, and had found a way to remain close to her despite Finduilas’s early death. Even now, when something troubled him, Eowyn knew her husband was likely to slip away to Silent Street and converse with his parents’ tomb and ashes. She had gone searching one evening early in her pregnancy, and found a dark head of hair peeking from behind the last of the row of caskets. Curious and unwilling to interrupt, she paused in the doorway, letting the single voice she could hear drift to her on a breeze of smoke and lavender.
I'm goin' job-hunting. I'm fairly amazed at how many of the places I've applied for have at least interviewed me, but it's a bit frustrating not to hear back from any but one that turned me down. I hate to quit without something to move on towards, but On-Call, No-Hour Limbo no worky. Leastwise I can bug the kennel I interviewed at again tomorrow when I spring Clover, and look forward to the bookstore interview on Friday. (The only potential problem I'd have with working in the bookstore is that I'd probably blow half my paycheck as soon as I got it.)
I also hunt wascally wabbits. Preview from latest WIP that's going somewhere:
Eowyn wondered sometimes, why he had so readily agreed to give their daughter a Rohirric name. It was obvious that he deeply loved and respected his mother, and had found a way to remain close to her despite Finduilas’s early death. Even now, when something troubled him, Eowyn knew her husband was likely to slip away to Silent Street and converse with his parents’ tomb and ashes. She had gone searching one evening early in her pregnancy, and found a dark head of hair peeking from behind the last of the row of caskets. Curious and unwilling to interrupt, she paused in the doorway, letting the single voice she could hear drift to her on a breeze of smoke and lavender.