Sue Heffner Mode

Hey people-- The onset of winter around here also brings on more frequent appearances of Sue Hefner. That's what I call myself when I spend the entire day in my robe writing.

Since Dan is still not finished building the "shop that time forgot" (cue echo-y announcer voice), and there is no way in heck I'm going to weld out in the driveway when it's, like, 25 out, I get to be Sue Hefner. The neighbor stopping by yesterday was a perfect example of why this can only be a wintertime writing ritual. If he'd have come by in June there is no way he'd catch me schlepping around in my Foo Fighter's T and underoo's. (I so wish there actually were adult underoo's. How cool would Wonder Woman underpants be?! That might be enough to get me to institute summertime Sue Hefner days...) (Actually that might spur me into a whole host of swashbuckle-y antics.)
All he saw was me in the robe though, and, being an artist too, didn't really raise an eyebrow. (I love where I live-- It's like my own private hippy compound, much like in my novels actually.) This was like 3 in the afternoon. Nothing strange about that.

My robe, I have to say, is pretty much made of awesome. It's some kind of space-age ultra soft material that a lot of baby blankets etc are made out of. When I saw it at the store I wanted it so bad I talked Dan into getting it as "our" anniversary present one year. "We can call it 'the love robe'," I pleaded, trying to convince him of how awesome it would be "sharing" the robe. "You can wear it every other weekend!"

In keeping with the tradition of me getting almost everything I really want, (and him too), we got it, and for a while I even went through the motions of sharing it with him, casually asking, "Have you seen the love robe?" and "Did you have it last?" He'd just look at me like, "Do you seriously think you can pull this farce off?" Now it's pretty much just mine.

I wear it with my sheepskin boots. I put off buying these for years, feeling guilty about the $, and, you know, the sheep, but finally succumbed this year. Sorry sheep, but soooooo comfy. I try to convince him this is a sexy get-up, "Kind of like Princess Leah without the honey-bun hairdo." I demonstrated the potential of this idea by whipping one edge of the robe aside displaying partial leg nudity (w/ boots-- bonus points), and waving the butter knife around like a light saber. Unfortunately Dan is more of a "My Name Is Earl" geek than a fanboy geek so he just gave me the same sceptical "love robe" expression and said, "Yeah, lose the robe and we'll talk."

Yesterday I laid down something like 3500 words, which is pretty decathlonic (Yes Virgina, you can invent words) for we writery types. Steven King I guess writes 3000 a day, which kind of pokes my competitive side. Hey-- what one person can do, another can do. Besides, my characters were on a roll and I had the love robe mojo going for me. My motto for word count is, "Insist on 1000, shoot for 2000, and beyond that, quit when the scene ends or the characters take a smoke break."

There hasn't been a whole lot of jamming out lately aside from shower performances (which I have rocked btw-- too bad no one ever witnesses these), so I'm going to leave Brad Sucks at the top of the player a little longer, because really, he doesn't suck. Oh goody, irony.

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Remember to shake it sometime today. Later.