I spent the weekend on household chores and fiction writing, including the monthly meeting of the Indianapolis chapter of what was originally a mystery writer's group.
One of the other members pointed out an anthology looking for stories, and took the time to make sure I was well aware of it. He thinks my work might suit the editors. We'll see -- I've got the setting and a few characters and I'm working on the plot.
It's certainly better than fretting over current events.
Another better thing (or things) are the "Stephanie Plum" novels by Janet Evanovitch. Stephanie's a remarkably inept novice bounty hunter in Trenton, New Jersey. Her misadventures fill multiple volumes, her flouting of the Garden State's draconian firearms laws is staggering, and yet somehow it all works out. Mostly. The novels are well-written, well-plotted and hilariously unlikely, the highest grade of "junk food" and I say that with the greatest respect, having spent most of my life reading things my teachers didn't think were worthwhile. Stephanie Plum is the irresponsible, Jersey-girl sibling of Sue Grafton's Kinsey Millhone. Kinsey is a former cop; Stephanie was the lingerie buyer for a local department store until it was merged with a larger chain. Kinsey's an orphan; Stephanie's family are the kind of people who who prompt acquaintances to tell her, "You didn't turn out too bad, considering."
I eagerly welcomed each new volume of Stephanie's misadventures. Alas, the movie was like a fine, sugary carbonated beverage left out overnight. Sigh.
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