The first Winter Olympics I really remember are the Games at Lake Placid, NY. I remember watching Robin Cousins win gold. I remember Eric Heiden winning pretty much every speed skating race (and I remember what a big deal it was when he came to the Memorial Day Bike Race in Somerville that spring.) I definitely remember Al Michaels saying, "Do you believe in miracles?!"
Ever since the winter of 1980, I've wished I kept up with ice skating (we used to skate on a neighbor's pond. I taught myself how to do some things and my best friend and I decided that she would be my coach and we'd make it to Sarajevo - where the 1984 Winter Olympics were. Never stopped to think that we were nine and neither one of us had a clue how to learn anything really complicated. We were nine. It didn't matter.) I have the mad urge to go skiing. All that fun stuff. For two weeks, even now, I can imagine myself as a figure skater or a skier. Or a luger (though I think those people are insane. Gutsy, maybe, but nuts.) Or a bobsledder. Or anything. Ahhh... the power of dreams...
But now it's over and suddenly, I'm back to reality - which has been polishing up the next Montgomery book to send to my editor. It's almost finished. I just need to fix a few things and then off it goes to my editor. One project down, several more to go. Then, I can get to work finishing Angel of Darkness (which has gone from paranormal to time-traveling paranormal, I think), The King's Bride (paranormal historical), and I'll be able to begin writing the western historical I've had rattling around in my mind for the last few months.
A change of pace. Should be nice.
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