I had planned to blog a bit last night, but I had a board meeting for the writer’s foundation and didn’t get back until well after nine. The downside of living outside established urban areas is that anywhere I need to be is a drive.

There were a lot of issues to address and it reminded me a bit of the old days when I was a teacher, but in a good way.

I spent yesterday morning commenting on blogs, and it generated quite a bit of traffic here, but it is time consuming. The afternoon was the short story, which isn’t all that short anymore. And this morning? Well, the Internet was down. At least in our little hamlet.

We awoke to a cold snap which had frosted the known world and hidden the rest in a thick white soupy mist. Fog and wireless internet are oil and water.

And I had stuff to do anyway. Grocery shopping now involves three different markets to visit due to availability of goods and prices. There was yoga. And then there was the short story – no longer short at all at 13,006 words.

One thing of interest to relate however; I heard from the writer who interviewed me for her book in 2007. She’d found me via my blog. I had written about using a problem solving technique she’s written about in Oprah. It was something she came up with for herself and she wrote about how she’d used it in her own life. I stumbled across it in 2006 and used it with my students and applied it to dating, when I first got back into it and it wasn’t going well at all. So, her book is done. She is sending me the “galley” to read. She gave me a fake name in the chapter I am in and disguised my story. I didn’t have to be incognito, but at the time of the interview I was a bit freaked out with someone tracking me down for my “story” on the Internet – even if she did know Oprah.

If she will let me, I will read it and review it here for all of you after it’s released. Otherwise, once it’s out, I’ll give you the title and you can hunt my pseudo-self down in it if you have nothing better to do. If you figure out who is me, let me know. Rob laughed when I told him my doppleganger’s name, so it apparently doesn’t fit me at all. But really, does a name fit? Or do we mold it to us over time?

Supper is calling. The preparation of it that is.