It was understandably silly of me to simply waltz back into your collective blogging world without explaining my four month writing sabbatical. I almost got away with it, had it not been for one of my sharp readers who rejoiced that I hadn't died or come down with a mysterious, anti-hunting disease.
It was very much unlike any other duck hunt in recent memory. Mike, knowing full well of my nearly-narcoleptic tendencies, always gives me a stern look and sit-down chit chat when faced with an ungodly early wakeup time. We discussed it thoroughly and agreed, we had to be out the door at 5:15AM, not a minute later. I bartered and begged for more time but my husband stood firm in his belief that depriving his wife of well-needed rest was the best way to start of our first duck hunt since relocating from North Dakota two years ago.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.