It's a gorgeous day today, my half-day of work, so I should be taking advantage of the lovely weather to let the chickens roam the yard and to start cleaning up the gardens but instead, I'm being "kidnapped" (in quotes because I ain't a kid anymore) for a drive to Moncton.
Apparently, mention the phrase "Fisherman's Paradise" and Dwayne's in. So supper is settled.
Then Mum pipes up: "Chapters."
And I say: "Michaels."
"Chapters. Michaels. Fisherman's Paradise. Where else do we need to go?" Dwayne says and I can tell by the look on his face that it's not a rhetorical question. He looks too excited for a trip to Moncton with his wife and mother-in-law.
"You want to go to Better Buy Sports, don't you?"
The grin told me I was right.

This is all otherwise known as Procrastination. My query letter is written, the book proposal is done, I'm even thinking of a brilliant writing website I could start -- and since I don't think along those lines, it's freaking me out how excited I am by the idea -- and Mum has okayed my opening pages so the time has come to start querying agents.
Ick.
I can't bring myself to start because this feels like IT. Now or never. Do or die. Shit or get off the pot. If I can't get an agent's interest who will get me a publisher, I'm going to have to go to Plan B.
And I don't have a Plan B.
Well, perhaps I do. Plan B is going to Moncton.