her flowing skirt is blowing in a transcendental wind

I went to Des Moines today in an effort to make progress on my romance novel (and to have french onion soup at Panera, and to have dinner with Aunt Becky and her scandalous fiance). I wrote approximately three thousand words in the cafe at Borders (where the staff knows my name, but I keep 'em guessing by ordering different drinks every time).

One of the last sentences I wrote today was this: "'Remember your hoydenish ways when night falls,' he said darkly, and she felt a jolt of electricity at the heated promise in his voice." From this, you may be able to gather that the tension was escalating and they were about to reach another 'steamy' scene (since it's required to have at least a couple in any standard historical romance novel). But alas for them, I tend to get interrupted just as they're about to move into more physical territory, so they're going to have to chill out in the dining room until I get around to finishing the scene.

I left Borders to have dinner with Aunt Becky and the scandalous fiance at an Italian restaurant on the southeast side of Des Moines. My pesto ravioli was quite good, and the conversation (about romance publishing, India, and Britain) was v. entertaining. The scandalous fiance is nominally involved in hosting a couple of people visiting his company from India, and when he arrived at the hotel to pick them up this morning, he discovered that the fire department was there because one of them had started a fire by attempting to microwave rice for ten minutes. Ha! It made me homesick for Hyderabad.

On the way home, I chatted with Emily on the phone for awhile, which was nice, since we hadn't talked in ages. And I also confirmed that living in California has made me soft -- I was six inches away from killing a raccoon, and I swerved to avoid it rather than gunning for it. Verily, I am a bridge between two worlds, familiar with both but comfortable with neither, since my animal-killing instincts are anathema to Californians but my inability to follow through with them makes me a pansy in the heartland. Sigh.

Now, my friends, it's time for bed!