Here's what I should be writing about.
I should be writing about Borders Bookstores filing for bankruptcy and how I'm relieved that the Borders near me doesn't seem to be on the list of 200 stores they're planning to close.
Or I should be writing about how it's mostly a moot point because thanks to people stealing books by way of the internet, writers can wave bye bye to earning money.
Or I should be writing about how I just signed up on Twitter (under the name of susanbpfeffer because for some reason why I tried to be susanbethpfeffer, it came out as susanbethpfeffe and I figured it was better to sacrifice beth than sacrifice the sacred name of pfeffer), but can't get the link to link properly which is why there's no link (not that what I tweeted was particularly interesting).
Or I should be writing about how I'm not going to get the first draft of Hart finished today because, among many other reasons, I discovered an important section I'd thought I'd written I hadn't, which is what happens when you write a book in bits and pieces and don't pay all that much attention to what you've actually gotten done. Other reasons include constantly changing motivation and events and lots of other stuff that should have been worked out before I began writing.
Instead, I'm going to write that tomorrow is my birthday and I bought myself a pot of tulips (which Scooter already knocked over) and a copy of Death and the Virgin Queen by Chris Skidmore. I'm not a big Queen Elizabeth The First fan, but this is one aspect of her reign that has always intrigued me, so it seemed like an ideal present to give myself.
Unbeknownst to him, Scooter celebrates his birthday on Feb. 17 also, and he treated himself to an early birthday present (no doubt his early birthday celebration was knocking over the pot of tulips). Yesterday, by happenstance (let's pause for a moment and admire a paragraph that has both unbeknownst and happenstance in it), I located a bag of old cat toys (most likely belonging to my late old cats, Alexander and Emily) in the outside storage closet and brought the bag in, intending to go through it for possible Scooter usage. Scooter saw no point in waiting, and went through the bag himself, picking and choosing amongst the many goodies. I came home from errand running to find quite a number of the old toys scattered around, and Scooter madly in love with one in particular.
Last year, when I had the best birthday ever, it snowed. Tomorrow, when I'll be celebrating a very low key birthday (lunch at Charlie Brown's with Marci and Carol and maybe Pam), the weather is supposed to be February lovely (temperature above 50). Maybe I'll spend my birthday trying to figure out the Twitter link, or writing some more in Hart.
Or maybe I'll just watch Scooter enjoy his presents!