Last night I slept with the Writer's Market. It was better than sleeping with writers. I got good advice without being condescended to.
I pulled off all the books from my shelves this morning. Then a realized it was very early and my neighbor's bedroom shares a wall with my office. So now there are piles of books everywhere, I can't find anything. But, I dig that in order to leave my office I have to take several huge steps over sandcastle-delicate piles. Books between the outside world and me, as usual. Books dangerous. Books threatening to take me down. Please do.
Trying to get some things finished to submit to San DIego Writer's Ink forthcoming anthology. The deadline is August 1.
The Writer's Market won't, betcha.