Just Call Me Madame President

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— 1 —

Last Saturday I volunteered for something. Something I’m not really sure I should do, but I’m gonna do it anyway. My writers’ group needs a President for next year. There are several members who’ve been involved for many years, and they’ve all already served at least one term as President. Then there are a handful of us who’ve been around for several years. The rest of the group is fairly new to our chapter. According to new National Bylaws term limits are set for each office, members must be out of office five years before being elected to any Board position again, and members must have been active in the chapter for two full years to run for office. So at Saturday’s meeting when the current President asked people to volunteer . . . I did.

— 2 —

 It keeps cropping up in my mind at random moments, kind of like when I was expecting my first child but wasn’t showing yet. Just a sudden adrenaline rush along with, “Oh, no! Why did I think this was a good idea? I have no idea what I’m doing!” Then I calm down and remember that this is the most supportive group of people I’ve ever been a part of. Most churches could take a lesson from this group. And it doesn’t matter that all I have published is a self-pubbed cookbook and an essay in a book about dysfunctional families. Members of this group have written best-selling, internationally-published books, books in multiple genres, books through traditional publishers and independently. There are experts and novices. All I need to do is make sure the group meets, and the Board meets, and that we get through the agenda and jump through the appropriate paperwork hoops. I can do this!

— 3 —

Of course after the meeting on Saturday I came home and finished the Stephen King book I was reading and decided I wasn’t even worthy to attend a writers’ group, let alone lead meetings. He’s just that awesome. So I obviously have to dust off those thumb drives or pull up Dropbox (if I can remember my password) and get writing again. Hello, timer, my old friend!

— 4 —

Speaking of finishing a Stephen King book, anyone else have that weird bittersweet feeling when you finish a really well-written book? It ended perfectly, but I wished there was more. I knew there was nothing else in the house that good that I hadn’t already read several times. So I caught up on Real Housewives of Orange County as a sort of literary palate cleanser. No, I guess no one else does do that. Sorry.

— 5 —

But while we’re on TV shows, can I just say that I am totally in love with Fear The Walking Dead. The only thing that could make it better is to have Chris Hardwick do a Talking Fear series immediately following it. AMC, please make it so. And then tell me why I was inexplicably drawn to a greasy-haired heroin junkie wearing a woman’s shrug. Is it just his resemblance to a young Johnny Depp? Or am I so shallow that it was just those bare abs? And BTW, maybe I’m not hanging out in the right ERs, but I suspect heroin junkies rarely have six-packs. And yes, I found that detail less believable than the Zombie Apocalypse.

— 6 —

I cut my husband’s hair after watching a couple of YouTube videos and he got several compliments on it the next day. I don’t know if that’s a testament to my stylist skills or just proof that he was way overdue for a haircut!

— 7 —

I bought shoes for my 16yo without him present. Yeah, you know this one isn’t going to end well. I did call him, and text him a picture for his approval, but once he saw them in person they had to go back. I thought it was girls who were supposed to be picky about clothes and shoes. No, my guys are super-picky (that includes my husband). Michael has to have size 10 Nike Cortez with a red swoosh, and John has to have size 11 Converse High Top Chucks in black canvas with a white sole and toe.  I have to special order both of these. Thank you, Catherine, for marrying Aaron and shopping for him!!

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