As many have observed before me, being your own boss means you can write in your pajamas, anytime. That's the good news. The bad news is, that being your own boss means you can write in your pajamas, anytime.
So here I sit in my pajamas, slovenly and content. I think my husband has forgotten what I look like dressed up.
It's mighty cold here in Northern California these days, but it least the Christmas rush is behind us and we can get down to more serious things, which in my case means marketing like mad. I've gotten a few reviews of my book, Briarhopper, and so far they're favorable. This has emboldened me to finally finish Accidental Cowgirl, which I started six years ago. I'm almost done. Then I can market them both at the same time—isn't that what they call working smarter? I hope so—wish me luck.
The garden is under 6 inches of hay and the citrus orchard, which is in pots, has been moved as close as possible to the house for reflected warmth. It was 27° on our back deck this morning. Saw great blue heron on my chilly doggie-walk. Wish us luck tonight. So far only one of our pipes has burst.
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