It is bloody cold. So cold I am cuddled up next to the heater wearing a hat. So cold my tuxedo kitty doesn’t even care to go outside. So cold…well, you get the idea. I’m drinking gallons of tea. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to run so many errands. Leaving the house is like embarking on a Siberian holiday; I bundle up in multiple layers and I still arrive home chilled straight through. It probably doesn’t help that I lost so much weight. I’ve got no damn insulation, physically. It’s interesting–the better I get at insulating myself emotionally, the less I need the physical padding.
Anyway, bitching about the weather isn’t what you’re here for, is it. (I’m also cranky because they’re resetting routes in at the rock wall, so I’ve missed a couple climbs. We’ll be back on a regular schedule next week.) I did make it all the way through the new Duffy CD yesterday, and the slower numbers improve the whole thing, but…that pop thing just isn’t what her voice seems to be for. I went back to Rockferry and have been humming along with it ever since.
As far as writing…here, have a link, Theodora Goss on writing every day. WORD. I don’t think it can be restated enough. But we all know how I feel about that.
I’m back at work, revising into a second draft of the final Strange Angels book. There’s also the sorceress and mentath to consider and gear up for, and I’m being taunted by both the trailer-trash fae book and the cowboys-and-zombies book. So I’m going to have to do up a schedule and stick to it for a few months if I seriously want to get all this stuff done.
Oh, Lord. Did I just say that out loud? Guess I’m committed now. In one way or another…