Change of Time

I'm waiting for the time when I can get my job done. The site I use has strict time censors and I have to wait until it's 'my' time to post. Just another five or so minutes. I'm exhausted, but not as bad as I usually am. Thank the powers above. Still, I want to get the job done and sneak into bed. :)

I met with friends this afternoon, writer friends, and we spent a good two plus hours chatting. it was nice. At the end of the session, I showed them the critique from the last conference. 

Sometimes, I get too close to things and I don't notice the obvious. My friend read the first line and said, 'This woman can't write. Where are her grammar skills?'

And she was right. The first sentence said, 'love the conceit.' Well, I knew she meant concept, but it doesn't matter. She didn't write concept, she wrote conceit. The grammar and sentence structure went down from there. As my friend pointed out mistake after mistake in the critiquer's writing, I realized that what my editor had said was true. This woman, two years ago, was a midwife. Now she's in publishing and supposed to be taken seriously? 

My self-esteem grew in leaps. Except for the fact that I am still amazed at the brains of the women I associate with. They see things that escape me. Their eyes are open. Now I'm not saying I'm a dimwit. I have my strengths, too. But when I see such intelligence around me, I sway to it. I feel like I'm in a dance of sorts, the force of the universe swirling me about. I drink in their intelligence and rejoice that I am party to such friends.

I try, on a daily basis, to keep my eyes open to the nuances of people's speech patterns and body language. I try to be open to nature, to see the beauty and the absurdity in it. The spectacular along with the mundane. I fail constantly, but I keep trying.

I want to talk my daughter into coming with me to a breakfast with the birds event tomorrow morning. She's not really into that, but I want my granddaughter to be part of it. The child is amazing and I want to keep her vistas open wide so that her part of the essence of the universe shines. Ah, what am I saying. She already shines. She wrote a book, I don't remember if I said anything here, about how she broke her arm. The title is: 'The real story of how I broke my arm.' Bless her heart, she wants to get it published and she wants to give it to all her friends. I'm going to take it to the local Office Max and see what can be done with it. 

Life is stunningly absurd.