The bathing beauty above is Miranda, painted by the quirky and talented Jaime Patneaude, daughter of Dave Patneaude (wait til you see his new book from Egmont, Epitaph Road). I'm not sure you can quite catch her expression, but it definitely matches the one I see in the mirror this morning.
I'm hot. Cranky. And feeling quite sorry for myself because a long-planned mini-vacation with my sibs and parents didn't work out (well, they all went. I didn't.).
My lower lip dragged on the ground as I took Winston on his morning constitutional. As we turned down Elderberry Lane, however, I did realize that my feeling left-out and pouty could be put to good use. On the pages of my WIP. Because the main character is in a similar boat: through no fault of her own, she's on the outside, too.
I guess it's back to work.
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