It’s been trying to snow for days now, producing sleet and spatters between bouts of very cold rain. There’s the occasional edge of huge, wet flakes, but those disappear soon as they hit the ground. If we get a strong east wind through the Gorge we’ll have a deep freeze, but it doesn’t seem like that’s on the cards. As it is, we’ve had just enough below-zero this winter to cut down on some summer insect (or slug) infestations, and while the snowdrops are beginning to fade it looks like the hyacinths and cherries are holding off for a little while longer. Resentfully, in the hyacinths’ case, but at least it’s something.
The daffodils are out in force though. Little yellow YOLO trumpets, absolute mad lads.
Thankfully, I’m beginning to get some bandwidth back. The Junji Ito phase (one graphic novel after another) was apparently just what I needed, and this past weekend I also finished Dower’s War Without Mercy, which was a fascinating read, especially tracing how racist propaganda symbols can be inverted. I’m about fifty pages from the end of Lakota America, though that’s hard going–any real American history is. If one is not nauseated by the invasion, genocide, and racism, one isn’t paying attention.
There’s plenty to keep me occupied afterward. My next-to-the-bed TBR has swelled dangerously and needs some attention.
I spent Saturday doing administrivia–there’s been a lot of that lately, tax season and the change of year both conspiring–and setting up the framework for that anthology of my short stories I’ve been threatening for, oh, a year or more? Since the Jolene or My Rebbe’s Wife stories didn’t fit elsewhere, I decided I might as well put them in my very own antho to sweeten the pot. I had been holding off because the entire project seemed like too much to handle, but finally the bright idea of (wait for it…) cutting the entire shebang into small, easily-accomplished chunks and formatting one short story (or two) per weekend struck.
I don’t know why it took me so long to arrive at that strategy, since it’s my standard suggestion to others. Like Alice, I suppose I rarely ever follow my own good advice. But I have the stories chosen now–eighteen, all told–and even have ideas of putting a few which can’t be sold for cash (as they have other characters, like the Kolchak and Jill Kismet story, or the Zombies, Run fanfic) into a free ebook just for funsies.
We’ll see.
Today will be all about even more administrivia–I swear I am being nibbled to death by bureaucratic ducks–but once that’s done I can take a look at a second escape attempt in the Sekrit Projekt, and maybe get an election into the serial. Our favourite sellsword is about to have a moment of “if nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve–whaddaya mean I don’t have another option?” Plus, one of the last pieces for this second season fell into place during some intense doodling and planning last week, so that’s a worry shelved, one I didn’t even know I was brooding over.
Plenty more where that came from, but I’m grateful nonetheless.
There are a few sales going on right now–many of my ebooks are 50% off during the Smashwords Read an Ebook Week, She-Wolf and Cub is a Kindle Monthly Deal, and Incorruptible is $2.99USD in ebook through these retailers for a few days more. And of course, A Flame in the North is still going strong–which provides some validation, even if I am still exhausted and burned to the ground by the effort to protect the series itself.
Dawn has risen while I’ve been typing, and the lacework of dark clouds under higher, lighter ones has turned into a soft infinite grey. Trying even harder for snow, I suppose, and though it’s too warm for any to stick it’s still chill-raw out there and I’ll be conservative with Boxnoggin’s walkies. His back leg appears to have healed completely but I’m still discouraging indoor parkour or any nonsense outside–the rabbit who has decided our backyard is now his notwithstanding.
But that’s (say it with me) another blog post. I had not believed a mere bunny could give me such a filthy look, but this one managed while also taunting 65+lbs of furred and muscled himbo terrier-boxer. The development does not bode well, though there was no sign of Compere Lapin this morning.
He’s perhaps just biding his time. Into Monday we go, boots on and eyeliner thickened. And with the baseball bat firmly to hand…