Hey, give-enough! Your notes aren't turned on!

I like small world stories. (And trust me, it would have only been creepy if you came up and jumped on me, or something.)

And considering I don't know *any* other people who wear crazy clothing and carry bows around the downtown core (or on the train, for that matter), you probably *did* see me. :P

Thinking of the train, I've been writing a lot on it.

Not ON it.

That's vandalism.

I've just been keeping my writin' book around with me, and writing non-stop.

I think I mentioned this last entry...

Anyway, I finished the story about the changeling child, and although it still needs transcribing and editing, I am reasonably pleased with it. It needs a few paragraphs shaved off the front, some tightening up around the end, and then I think it will be good enough to submit somewhere.

Submit somewhere!

Can you imagine me, submitting something?

I'm going to wait until I have two or three stories that are ready for sending, so I can fire a second one off if the first one gets rejected.

Do I really think I'll get published?

Not really.

But hey, a girl can dream, right?

Thinking of dreamy, gosh, there was a very cute man at archery last night.

TONS of people showed up, even a few dudes (even though it was "ladies night").

Admittedly, ladies night is called ladies night to keep the weird creeper guys away. The two dudes that did show up are okay and don't try to hug you when you don't want hugs.

I usually don't want hugs, so life is okay.

Anyway, there were lots of non-SCA people there, too, including a whole bunch of people I've never seen (I assume people I don't recognize are renters or tourists).

So upstairs, which is usually dead, was PACKED. There were more archers than space on the line, so people were starting to switch out.

A guy, six feet, shaved head, recurve bow, hesitantly approaches the line.

I see him heading for it, so I stand back, ready to sit this one out.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Am I stealing your place?"

"No, no," I say. He has a nice accent, faint, which I can't quite place. "We can switch out. It's okay."

Eventually the two of us get to shooting next to each other, which means a long walk to the butt, and a chance to chat.

He's from the UK. Moved to Calgary a few years ago. Self-employed (though I didn't ask how). Has been shooting for a while, and as far as I know, always recurve (which is what I shoot, too).

I took a break from shooting then, as my arms were starting to shake, and my clusters were getting wilder and wilder.

He headed towards the butt to retrieve his arrows, and Jude sidles up to me so close her head is almost directly under my chin (she's wee, but don't let that fool you).

"He's totally flirting with you," she murmurs, grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I know," I say, cheeks aglow, "and I'm totally flirting with him."

"Ask him out to fridays!" she says, making to poke me in the ribs. Fridays are the usual SCA archery night.

"But...I...gah..."

"DO IT."

So when he returned to the line, and steps back to take a break, I just happen to be there and fall into conversation with him.

"Fridays, eh?" he says, and seems interested. Interested in what, though, I'm not sure.

So it's archery again for me tomorrow, and we'll see if he shows.

Even if he doesn't, I will sit in Thorgeir's lap and he will purr in my ear and tell me how lovely I am, and really, that's enough of an ego boost for me.

.

Rosie.

Before&After