No acceptances. No rejections. No requests for rewrites. No friendly howdies. No nothing
. What a week. Bleh.
Some few words on Sampo
and some insights into it and Thermionic Night
and some research reading, and oh, have I blessed the name of Göran Schildt here? I don't think I have. Bless you, Göran Schildt, wherever you are, for you wrote the slim volume Modern Finnish Sculpture
, which has the dual purpose of teaching me more about my own books and showing me how very right I have been all along. This is an outstanding feeling: that my insight/intuition was going in the right direction. That all this time and reading and work has been for something. That I am, after all this, a pretty decent person to be writing near-contemporary fantasy novels set in Finland. Who knew?
The art fair and library book sale up in St. Anthony today were outstanding for us: outstanding company, outstanding purchases. We've been in need of some home decoration, and now we will have a good bit more of it. We just kept finding good things. Seriously: we bought everything
. Well, not one particular fashion item, but that's porphyrin
's rant, not mine. We'll need to visit the frame store soon, but I have no idea what this week will bring and can't commit to it being this week. There was much goodness, though, and Stella and I had salmon calzones from Taste of Scandinavia, and they rocked. My. World. Dill and lemon and cheese and spinach and red pepper and oh. So much goodness in one not-so-small pastry. Must return for more calzone. And lefse wrap. Etc.
Roo greeted us with a big smile and immediately pointed out that "Cookie Monsser" resided on his shirt. Okay then. We're always so glad to see him that it's lovely when he's glad to see us, too. "Because our little Roo knows we love him, and he loves us," I said. "And because we spoil him rotten," the entity known as unGARK said. This, too, is acceptable.
I even got pants. Pants! And you know how pants and I are. Maybe you didn't. But now you do. Pants! I'm telling you, we bought everything. I hope there's not supposed to be any festival left tomorrow, because there's nothing left for you. We own it all now.
My mother is going to laugh her head off at more than one thing we bought, but this is yet another acceptable outcome to the day.