As a writer I sit under sunbeams on the beach reading the contract I recently received from a publisher I sent my manuscript to two years ago.
Yes, two years ago.
It's a beautiful thing, knowing a publisher wants something you created.
You'd think I had a glass of celebratory champagne at my elbow.
But don't be under any illusions.
I was on the beach because these two swim beauties wanted to go future down the road from our condo where there are no threats of jelly fish or sting rays.
So I lugged a chair and bamboo mats across a woooden, sand-strewn boardwalk.
And sat under the only miniature umbrella I could find in my van. And I sweated and got sand in my book bag. And the wind and surf rifled through my papers. And I drank a bottled water and ate chex mix.
Because my life isn't so much a writer's view as it is a mother's view.