Sunday, November 12
The good news: the shipping dorks actually managed to pick up our pallets of cheese -- not on Friday, as they'd said, but early Saturday morning. Dan and I didn't end up having to help make up the actual pallets, as my parents decided that getting us on site and capable of work at 6 am was more trouble than it was worth. I am wounded. Not a walking zombie as I would have been at 6 am, of course, but nonetheless wounded.
The weird news: the truck driver for this shipment, while a nice man, somehow managed to get my cellphone number instead of my father's (they're only one digit apart) and despite repeated attempts to convince him that he needed to call ***8 instead of ***9, it was me that he called at 8:30 in the morning for directions. The poor sod's lucky he even ended up in the right town.
The bad news: we bought three itty baby pigs on Friday for eventual sausage dinners. And now we have two itty baby pigs. Apparently while my mother and the NYC intern (who is a real sport) were transferring them from the truck to their new piggy home they made the mistake of leaving one piggy in the truck while they carried two to the pen. My mother did put the camper's lid down but the piggy, having watched his brethren being carted off and apparently having watched more horror movies than were good for him, made a desperate leap into the unknown. After getting chased over half the farm by two women and a very excited dog he finally escaped, last seen heading off into the woods as fast as his little piggy legs could carry him.
So somewhere on our 175 acres is a very lost, damp, and lonely pig. Hopefully we will find him before the coyotes do.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 304 words. I suck.
Comments: In my defense, that measly 300 words did get me to the end of the chapter. And I did spend the rest of the day whipping up my flagging enthusiasm for querying Harmony. I sent off four e-queries (one a re-query to an agent who hasn't responded) and have five further queries waiting to go out in tomorrow's mail (one of those also a re-query). So not unbearably lazy -- just lazy.
Crappy Writing Skill De Jour: Does a butterfly attention span count as a crappy writing skill?
Snips: Rare poetic moment: Behind Elliot, the unborn kin twitched, giant hooves fighting to churn at the nonexistant earth.
The weird news: the truck driver for this shipment, while a nice man, somehow managed to get my cellphone number instead of my father's (they're only one digit apart) and despite repeated attempts to convince him that he needed to call ***8 instead of ***9, it was me that he called at 8:30 in the morning for directions. The poor sod's lucky he even ended up in the right town.
The bad news: we bought three itty baby pigs on Friday for eventual sausage dinners. And now we have two itty baby pigs. Apparently while my mother and the NYC intern (who is a real sport) were transferring them from the truck to their new piggy home they made the mistake of leaving one piggy in the truck while they carried two to the pen. My mother did put the camper's lid down but the piggy, having watched his brethren being carted off and apparently having watched more horror movies than were good for him, made a desperate leap into the unknown. After getting chased over half the farm by two women and a very excited dog he finally escaped, last seen heading off into the woods as fast as his little piggy legs could carry him.
So somewhere on our 175 acres is a very lost, damp, and lonely pig. Hopefully we will find him before the coyotes do.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 304 words. I suck.
Comments: In my defense, that measly 300 words did get me to the end of the chapter. And I did spend the rest of the day whipping up my flagging enthusiasm for querying Harmony. I sent off four e-queries (one a re-query to an agent who hasn't responded) and have five further queries waiting to go out in tomorrow's mail (one of those also a re-query). So not unbearably lazy -- just lazy.
Crappy Writing Skill De Jour: Does a butterfly attention span count as a crappy writing skill?
Snips: Rare poetic moment: Behind Elliot, the unborn kin twitched, giant hooves fighting to churn at the nonexistant earth.
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