The Five-Minute, Eleventh-Hour, Hundred-Day Project
I was picking up my youngest from a friend yesterday evening, who happens to be a teacher in our school district.
"Got your Hundred Day Project done?" she asked, brightly.
I said something not appropriate for a family-oriented review blog.
Hundred Day is one of those made-up holidays that sneaks up on me every time, because it's not rooted in any personal childhood memory. That sounds good, doesn't it? Actually, my own children's birthdays sneak up on me, too. That's how I roll.
Fortunately, if there's one thing I'm good at, (as I keep reassuring my agent and editor, patiently waiting on late manuscript revisions) it's pulling it together at the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour.
I came home and found boxes of crayons hoarded from back-to-school sales, dumped a 5-lb bag of rice in a shoebox, and told my kindergartner to get busy planting.
Inch by inch, row by row.