What we've seen the past few days.

Here's me driving 75 on the freeway:

 

Can I hear an "AHHHHHHH!! SCARIEST THING EVER!!!!!"?

On Saturday the family went to a zoo. I got to see my very first polar bear and giant tortoise! That was exciting. Although I felt really sorry for the animals - their cages were too small.

 

 

 

Things with horns:

 

 

Today, driving to Grama's, we took a detour to visit a two story outhouse.

 

It had five holes... Three in the bottom and two on top. There was a wall on the bottom floor that separated those holes from the stuff coming down from the top floor... Either way, I wouldn't want to be on the bottom while someone else was on the top, if you get my drift!

I've been doing some re-writing. I had hoped to have it all done by today.... But then I decided to re-do a pretty major part, which means re-writing a whole bunch more. I'll work on that a lot tomorrow, I think.
Also, of course, I've been reading. I'm waiting for the perfect moment to start The Return of the King (aka, sometime when I'm not about to fall asleep on my feet). I'm still reading Emma. And I started another Agatha Christie. This one is called Dead Man's Folly and so far it's one of my top favorites, even though I'm only a few chapters in and nobody's been murdered yet. I like it because it has Ariadne Oliver. She is a character! I'm not exactly sure how she and Poirot met... I haven't read that book yet. But she's a detective writer whose just a little bit dunderheaded. She's hilarious. I love her. I think she's one of my top favorite characters ever.

Here's a scene with her that I find fits us authors particularly well.
The pretense of the book is that Mrs. Oliver has set up a Murder Hunt (which is like a treasure hunt or a How to Host a Murder game). She has come up with all these clues and suspects for people to solve. The only problem is that she thinks something far more sinister is going on... So she calls in her good friend Poirot.
In this scene, she's trying to explain the plot of the Murder Hunt.

Mrs. Oliver gave a deep sigh and turned to Poirot. "Well, I'll  have to tell it you, then. Only I'm not very good at telling things. I mean if I write things, I get them perfectly clear, but if I talk, it always sounds the most frightful muddle; and that's why I never discuss my plots with anyone, I've learn not to, because if I do, they just look at me blankly and say - 'er - yes, but - I don't see what happened - and surely that can't possibly make a book.' So damping. And not true, because when I write it, it does!"

Anyways, I should be off to bed. Early to bed and early to rise makes a (wo)man healthy, wealthy, and wise!
Unfortunately, it's a little too late to be calling this early so... I'll just leave.
Goodnight!

Live long and prosper.