I have dragged myself up from the depression that I had fallen into upon the news that two iconic figures of my childhood have died. Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson in the same day. I have images of myself spending hours with my sisters trying to master the moonwalk and feather our hair, sometimes in the same day. It is the end of an era (heavy sigh).
In more upbeat news, I have an idea for a new book. This will be my third manuscript and I think the idea is sufficiently original to generate interest, but not too controversial and therefore dismissed for not being able to target an audience. Did that make sense? Maybe I am spending too much time reading about writers and not enough time writing for readers.
Now that made sense.