That's the working title of the Great (Gay) American (Werewolf) Novel(la). I'm in the middle of doing the technical edit, but couldn't resist jumping the gun and getting copies of the thing at Staples and dropping some in the mail to a few folks who I thought might appreciate some werewolf erotica on a cold winter night.
And, I got a verrrrry interesting response to a resume I sent out. From a very local conservationist group looking for a new Executive Director. I could definitely see myself being very committed to their mission, as it concerns a feature of life here in Bucks County that is quite near and dear to me. A lot of the job would be to shake money out of the local political powers that be. And, it wouldn't mean driving an hour and forty-five minutes to get to work in Philadelphia, and an hour and forty-five minutes to get home again.
Alas, it might mean returning to that whole "Going To Work" thing that seems to have become so popular. (Why? What's up with that? I hate that "Going To Work" fad.) But I'm totally enumerating bipedal domesticated fowl while they're currently embrionic.
I'm hoping that we won't be snow-bound tomorrow. I'll sure be happy to leave cold and wintry Pennsylvania behind in two weeks and head off to sunny San Diego. Alpha has promised me time in the desert and time in a hot tub while I'm there, and I'm also hoping to pay a visit to Roadkill. Alas, SuperPigs--Roadkill's beats-the-band monthly SM sex party--has been moved from the usual first Saturday of the month to March 16th to coincide with Mr. San Diego Leather weekend festivities, so I won't be able to attend.
Anyway, blah blah blah.
Back to editing.