What is this thing called blogging, Jim?

I was vehemently anti-blog until just recently. I'm not sure what made me change my mind, but I'm going to blame the medication. Yeah, that Ibuprofen sure is some wicked stuff, man.

Anyway, just back from a weekend writing retreat. A casual affair involving six people from a NoVA writing group called the Cat Vacuuming Society. (Note: No actual cats are harmed in this endeavor.) Got a big ol' pile of writing done and, though I haven't actually gone back and read any of it to make sure it isn't crap, I'm quite happy with my progress. Our retreat was in the foothills of those mountains along the western border with West Virginia, whatever they are, and I got to sit and stare out the window at horses grazing on a distant hill in between writing brilliant short stories, playing spider solitaire, and eating Shrek M&Ms. It just doesn't get any better. (God help me if that's true, but it was pretty durn cool.)

Virginia, meanwhile, is gray, and I have an invoice to work on, as well as homework and actual work, of the paying variety. Isn't that novel?

Bon soir,
Meriah...