I am a beta reader for an author friend and for the last three days she’s been sending me three-chapter sections of one of her manuscripts which I then proof and opine.  It is a great deal of fun, and lets me pretend that I’m official in some way.  After all, I love books and I love being right so if I can combine the two, I’m a very contented individual.  I get to double-check her spelling and grammar, sentence structure and coherency.

As I finished another, unrelated book this afternoon, I realized I was having trouble differentiating between the two stories I’d been absorbed in today and my real life.  I was combing through my memories of the day to decide what I’d write about, I kept having these bright, awesome, tension-filled memories and then lesser, blander memories.  After I tried to gather up the bright ones to get some stories for you all to enjoy, I noticed one thing in common between all of them: they weren’t real.  Oops.  Oh well, I made more cookies today, had a good time with a new friend, and EXERCISED OH MAN.