When the Gypsy Camp Calls

It would be really nice sometimes if the creative gypsies of my brain would at least try to get along with the logical, “I’ve got a plan” boys.

Really, these soldiers of rationality are working darn hard up there between my ears, they deserve a break, you know? Just a teeny bit of cooperation from the bohemian set would really be swell.

For the past few days, as I’ve told all of you, I’ve had plans to finish up the chapter outline for the Six Brothers project so I could send it off to my literary agent for her opinion. With work on Pound’s final 10k going swimmingly well, the common sense troops were all prepared to head out yesterday and get some work done on the outline.


Yeah, you guessed it. The gypsies weren’t digging the plan and ended up throwing one heck of a love-in on the Pound grounds.

I, being nothing but the commissary for these spatting factions, had no choice but to follow along with the hippy-chicks. (The book’s deadline is less than 2 weeks away so you’ve got to go with the side holding all the imagination.)

So, in short, I got zero work done on the Six Brothers project… again.

And Pound made great strides towards completion… again.

Not really a problem, per se, but I do have one nagging concern. When it’s time to drag the men in the spiffy tactician uniforms out of the gypsy camp, will the boys come?

*70’s porno music suddenly roars in the background, as one of my soldiers yell drunkenly, “Oh, yeah baby. I’m coming!”*

*blogger blushes, hurriedly drops the curtain on this whole “affair” before an X-rating for this post becomes embarrassingly necessary*

Until tomorrow…


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