I definitely need to do some more hanging art -- I'm completely out of the layered glass ones (not sure how that happened). I have the glass to do 8x10 ones, but those a) don't sell as well and b) are a frustrating small canvas to work on. What I ought to do is go buy more glass. I suspect my glass guy can't get them cut quickly enough, so I'll just have to buy ready-made, which is a bit expensive. Can't be helped, though. Ah well. I do have one really large glass piece in progress, but I think it may be too large for my car. I'm not sure how I'm ever going to get it to a convention, actually. This is an interesting dilemma. Maybe it's not as large as I think it is. I should measure.
When I wasn't thinking about art, I was thinking about sex. I did a two-hour online chat this evening with several South Asian women who are interested in writing erotica. Several! More than one, more than two -- more than half a dozen, even. It's very exciting, not being the only one anymore. There's plenty of people doing what I do. It takes some of the pressure off. It's also kind of fun being in the mentor role, giving stern advice ("yes, you need to respect your parents' needs, but you also need to respect your own") and cheerful encouragement ("they'll calm down eventually, I'm pretty sure -- just hang in there"). It was actually a really interesting conversation, ranging from the difficulty of straddling the border between Western sexual permissiveness and South Asian community concerns, to practical questions of language and character and genre definition and even markets. Charming women, great time had by all. Or by me, at any rate. Hopefully by them too.
And now my pot pie is finally baking (I had a yogurt at 8:30, when I realized I wasn't going to be eating anytime soon), and the apartment smells so good (my crust will be tasty, but not pretty -- if I have to pick, tasty wins every time). I'm going to curl up with an old Mercedes Lackey book for a little bit, then eat. Yum yum yum!