Okay, so a tremendously great week writer-wise. One great story off to the agent; another beneath my fingers and just turning out great. Exactly like I dreamed.

Man. I gotta stop that. Stop all that dreaming*. Because it really never does turn out like I imagine. Not complaining, no indeed. Just remembering that the world moves strangely and complexly---and that I am constantly overwhelmed.

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*Hey! Dream big, right? I like to think I am the unsung Gustav Flaubert of kiddie lit, when really I'm more of an Oscar Wilde during his Irish days. Do you think St. Francis de Sales would approve?