Dorothy Cannell here: In forty five minutes, it would be shorter if my husband had his way, we will be leaving for a writers conference in Indiana. I am not packed, and I have yet to have a bath. I look around my house in disappointment that it has allowed itself to get muddley without any assistance from me, and I think vaguely about the panels I am assigned to participate in and wonder if it possible to suddenly refuse to leave unless we fly (first class) instead of driving. We travel decidedly fourth class because our car is small. My husband (presently current one, but just let him put one foot wrong) views traveling from Maine to Indiana in a cramped state guaranteed to worsened arthritis as a fun-filled adventure. Stopping for meals always adds to the excitement. I point out a restaurant, the first seen in one hundred and thirty nine miles, and he says “Oh, woops! Missed it” as if we just escaped a bullet as we head into a desert. Nitpickers may say there are no deserts between Maine and Indiana, and maybe I am stretching to include rutted gravel paths that wind on until every motel looks certain to be a mirage, if only spouting plastic palm trees.

I am in this doleful frame of mind because I have been racing to finish a project and am now left wondering if I’ll ever come up with anything else to write about; and half hoping I won’t because sometimes it comes to me that writing is real work, and I get crabby when people keep asking if I’m not done yet as thought I’ve been indulging in a three month manicure. Of course once I get to the Magna Cum Murder the conference in Indiana I will cheer up enormously and remember what a wonderfully fun breezy job this is, because I so much love being around the ‘write’ sort of people.

Sorry this is a short blog, though I don’t see why I should feel guilty, except that being married to a retired lawyer I know that when the they write briefs they really mean ‘longs’, so I guess that makes their job a lot more real than mine. Still, I do hope I may be excused to go and have my bath, remember to pack for more than one day, and plot how to get the driver to stop at a slow food restaurant.

Happy rest of the month. Be lazy – Read! That’s my goal.

(Note: Dorothy got this post to me on time to post for her, but I was crazy busy

and neglected to post it for her. But everyone at MCW is glad she’s been allowed

out of writer’s jail!!)