So, it's Sunday afternoon. I'm in a hotel next to the Albuquerque International Airport. It's a chain hotel. The air is crowded with stale scents (all rooms are non-smoking. Mine smells like an ashtray over powered by incense).
I drove down to the big city yesterday. I stayed at a motel downtown and went to see Dervish, a traditional Celtic band, last night. This morning I went to the never-disappointing flea market at the fair grounds. I've learned from past experience that the most interesting finds are on the outskirts. I found a stack of CD--at a buck a piece they're hard to beat (as long as they play). I also found some well-aged photos from Paris (the Norte Dame one will need to go in my study...when I have one) and one from Switzerland. I like old black and whites.
I went to lunch at The Frontier Restaurant (a regular setting found in some of the Tony Hillerman novels). I'm always impressed with the quick service/ fast food/ semi-healthiness of it all (the tortillas, chili, beans and orange juice are all fresh). I read some of my biography on Edgar Cayce while I waited for my number to come up.
I'm settled in and feeling like I should sit down and work on my fiction writing. I've been feeling like the spoiled kids who keeps saying, "I don't like crust"...only I'm saying, "I don't want to write a query letter, synopsis or cover letter". So, it'll happen. I just need to sit down and work at it.
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