Oh, people. I hope the next thing I write is as much fun as this thing is. Anyway, I’m back in. The self-imposed exile is over. I’ve gotten some excellent notes from E. and I should have K.’s comments this week and then… well, I don’t think I’m going to make my goal of sending out my first agent query on the 22nd…
Sorry, I got distracted by the itchy spot where the tick bit me yesterday and I see something strange. I have freckles on my upper arms and shoulders. Don’t get me wrong, the only thing cuter than shoulder freckles are boob freckles, but it’s not like I’ve been out in my yard shirtless. How am I getting freckles all the way up my arms? I like them, but I am perplexed.
Anyway, so, yes, agent query by the 22nd? Probably not. But I’m still feeling good about the end of the month. I was going in and reading some of E.’s notes and I got to reading the manuscript and I still really like it. I still feel like “Yeah, this is a book I’d like to read.”
But one of E.’s queries has led me to turn to you, dear Internet. Let us all be in the mind of Western Kentucky. Picture it–not bourbon country. Not Appalachia. More like eastern Iowa, hilly and green, with a huge sky and wide expanses of farm land. A Yankee woman, unmarried, comes to a house somewhere between Cadiz, Hopkinsville, and the Pennyrile State Forest. Do the adults call her “Miss Hannah” or “Ms. Hannah?”
I have a sense that it’s far enough north that they’ve slipped into “sss” instead of “zzz” but I’m now doubting.
I should put the question to my new shoulder freckles and see if they arrange themselves into the answer.
Ha, I wonder if there is divination based on freckle patterns?