New stuff

Yes... well... let's not talk about the football, hmm? Not one of the teams I was supporting won, so. 'Nuff said.

It's taken awhile, but I'm hoping the books to the right can be downloaded in toto by right clicking the mouse and saving the link; if not, I'm sure someone will let me know. I'm also going to try something wa-ay out and put the covers up, too.

I used to be a whizz at this stuff, but technology has moved on... and I haven't - that will teach me to have my head in a book! I'm hoping that with practice, it will come a lot easier than it is. If not, then I shall throw myself upon the mercy of those who do know.

In the meantime, I wish everyone a happy and New Year, and play safe at your chosen celebration.

In Other Worlds

While entertaining the rellos this weekend, I've been putting together a book of the short stories from the Takeaway.

The plan is to post In Other Worlds onto the new website I'm building. Added to this will be the full, third draft version of Huntress.

"But wait! There's more!" As a bonus, In Other Worlds contains three new stories.

All this is planned for January 1, and I'm going to take down the stories from the Takeaway. That doesn't mean anything other than "I'm taking the stories down". More will be posted as scheduled.

I've left a number of the stories out - presumably, I'll be putting together another one when there are enough. Though since I'll be in Europe in May 2008, this means no story-a-day marathon. I'm working on getting around that - I love that marathon.

Okay then. This is all dependent on my getting the website done in time. I have Jason over at Scribbling of a Madman to thank for the idea. He has a freebie on the blog attached to Freewebs and this is what I'm using - it has to be better than the current one.

On that score, I'll post a link to the new site when it goes live on the old site.

I'll let y'all know. (There's lots of American Football on the teev tomorrow - how can I not watch?)

Back online-ish

I finally managed to work out how to connect the new modem. Yeah, yeah, how hard can it be? Well, without the username and password from my ISP, impossible.

Today though, I'm zipping from page to page.

Of course I should be working, but I'm not. I spent some time watching the college football and playing with the modem.

I am working on a new website, but my CSS skills are sadly lacking; nothing like a bit of practice, though, to brush up those skills... and that means it's time to get back to it.

Post Christmas

Christmas Day went surprisingly well - but then, I planned it that way. Yes, I'm absolutely dripping in smug. (I'll wash it off later.)

The food was great - only half an hour late - there was plenty of bubbles (oy...) to keep the chef lubricated, the kids happily played with toys or watched brand new DVDs, while we adults caught up. And no-one, no-one caught the 'tired and emotional' disease that often plagues families at this time of year.

But... Murphy. Always an uninvited guest and always creating mayhem. I'm munching away at the crackling (mmm.... crackling...) and crunch - one chipped molar. My dentist won't be back in the office until the New Year; it's more an irritant than anything major, but still...

The worst is that my modem packed it in. I'm using dial-up for the moment and tomorrow, I'm off to brave the ferocious battlefield of post-Christmas sales to find a new adsl modem.

Today has been quiet and peaceful; recovery day, if you will. For my part, I've posted another story over at the Takeaway.

For the New Year, I'm going to take down all the stories and pdf 'em into book format with a couple of extra stories. I'm going to create a new web page too. The one I've got sucks like a lemon, and I know it.

Actually, now that I think about it, that's a lot a work to do in a week; maybe I should say in the New Year. Yeah. In the New Year - it's all a part of my cunning plan to up the tempo of this writing gig.

Sancta Bovina!

Or, Holy Cow! in Latin.

It's just before nine a.m. and my writing chores are done. The little brown dog I'm looking after stayed true to form and got me up at 5.30. (She'd better not do the same tomorrow...) So I've been buzzing around. One last shop this morning at 6.30 for milk, a turn around the neighbourhood with the animal companions and bacon and eggs for brekkie.

It's another beautiful day on the coast; the sunrise spectacular, the air fresh but warming and all's right with the world... until the mad tourists start makin' noise, that is.

I have a couple of things to do, then I can sit and enjoy some down time - at least until Wednesday when I'll post another story.

Happy Christmas, everyone.

Finished!

Well, woo...

I managed to carve nearly 5200 words out the book and I'm embarrassed to say most of those were the bane words.

I've put in some long hours on this so I could set it aside and enjoy Christmas. Now that it's done, I have no energy left to celebrate, hence the bland 'woo'.

My own fault, of course. I didn't set aside enough time and had work the long hours, like fourteen hour days long.

I'll give it one more read through before New Year, then post it on the first.

For now, I'm going to share a bottle of bubbles with my eldest sister and catch up.

Bane

The banes of my existence are: had, was, that and -ing.

I'm double editing. That is, I've gone through the hard copy and I'm putting them into the electronic copy, but I'm also editing on screen and those baneful words pop up with vulgar regularity.

It's a time consuming job and I hope to have this done by tomorrow; I doubt it though. I am determined to have it done by Christmas Eve - family is descending and I'll be busy with other stuff.

Still, it's not so bad: I'm over halfway and I'm going to post the completed version of Huntress for the New Year.

Since I'm doing this, I've had no time to write a Solstice story - not that I could think of anything to write. My muse has already gone on holiday, I think, and my focus is on this book. But there will be a short story on Wednesday. (They'll all be off to the post-Christmas sales.)

It's time for a break - dinner - before I throw myself back into the work. Writing is easy compared to this; all I have to do is place my fingers on the keyboard, imagine and off I go. This editing stuff takes concentration.

Blessed be, everyone and happy Solstice!

Timing

I'm starting to feel a little cramped up with all the stuff I have to do before next week.

But rushing around like a mad thing, will not get things done any faster and will only piss me off. And who needs to be bad tempered at this time of year?

It must be seasonal anxiety... or the weather. Sitting at a computer all day when it's hot and humid is not my idea of a fun time; and no, I don't have air conditioning. Santa is mean that way.

There's a definite temptation to cool off at the beach, but it's not going anywhere and the screaming hordes of tourists are about to descend on this peaceful village... oh, and then there are the sharks.

Yeah, I shudder too, but the warnings are out because the water temperature has risen due to La Nina. I ain't stickin' my toe in. They can, if they must chew on a tourist.

Work. I have to get back to work. The promised storms are approaching, but with them, a cool breeze. Another hour or so and I'll have to give the editing away. *sigh* Summer can be such an annoying bitch.

Hard Yards

Finally finished the edits - that is: red pen all over the place on 376 pages of hard copy. Tomorrow, I get to correct the electronic version.

Now that I'm done with the paper, it got me to thinking about how I edit.

Most writers hate the editing phase. Some days, I'm not a fan either, even though I have the professional qualifications to do it. I don't know why. If the book is good enough, why worry about the small stuff?

And I think that's the fundamental problem. While we write, everything is perfect. We see with absolute clarity the characters and scenery and dialogue and... everything. But when the editing comes around, we have to take off those rose-coloured glasses and put on the executioner's hood. We cut and hack, slice and dice and remove what we thought brilliant at the time of writing; and we wonder what the hell we were thinking.

For me, if a book doesn't write well, I don't finish it; and that circumvents the need to edit. But when I've finished writing and set the tome aside, I come back and read through it with a fresh eye.

Most of the problems with Huntress are cosmetic: grammar, missing punctuation, a missing word here or there. I've only deleted a part of one scene and that's because no man has that kind of stamina. This book was, however, written for Nano 2003, and the aim then was the word count. Nothing boosts a word count like S.E.X. so, out that part goes.

There are more pages with corrections than not, but I should be done by tomorrow afternoon, and that makes me happy.

I may even give myself some of next week off, after I've done the story for Saturday and next Wednesday.

* * *
On another note, I was saddened to read on Sci Fi Weekly that Terry Pratchett has announced he's suffering from the early onset of Alzheimer's Disease.

I'm not a fan of his work, but I have heard him speak and he is as entertaining as he is erudite. He says he has time yet to write more books, but I can only say it is a tragedy to the sci-fi and fantasy genre to lose such a clever mind.

And yes, I have experience with this kind of disease; my father had it and there is nothing more cruel.

I'm not going to suddenly rush out and buy Terry Pratchett's books, as I said, I don't like them, but I know he has fans and they are legion. Maybe someone will come up with a cure in time to save him. We can only hope and pray.

A good day

I got a lot done, more than I expected, no matter my grumblings of yesterday.

In between the phone calls, the nagging dog - Maggie is a guest dog who constantly wants her back rubbed/scratched or fed (my dog, Saxon, is so intimidated by this bundle of eight-year-old Staffordshire muscle that she hides even at dinner time) or walked or whatever - fixing the coffee machine *gasp* (water wouldn't run through so I cleaned it; can't do without my cappuccino), shopping for food stuffs, I managed a hundred and fifty pages. WOOT!

Two packages also turned up; one for my mother and the other from Denmark, yay, under the tree they go! Add to that the seductive lure of three letters from England containing marriage certificates and a birth certificate for the family tree and it's a wonder I got anything done on the editing scene.

Tomorrow won't be as productive as I've got to go into town - then again, Maggie likes to wake me up at oh-my-Goddess-it's-early, otherwise known as five o'clock in the a.m., for a wee break. Since I'm up already and the sun is rising, it's the start of my day, too. I can't go back to sleep; tried it. Failed. It's a beautiful time of day and I spend an hour or so with the coffee, watching the news before heading to the computer.

If I can get the same amount of work done, then Friday I can finish off and do the story for Saturday. That's the plan, but, as always, Murphy might have something to say about that.

Work avoidance

Editing, while my stock in trade, can sometimes be a drag; any work can become a chore when you'd like to be doing something else.

I had all the classic symptoms: I tidied my desk, got out the sticky arrows I needed and lined them up, unwrapped a new Post-it(tm) note pad, re-arranged the coloured pens, fixed my editing board - the hinge was loose - went and made myself another cup of coffee, checked the dogs, then the rain gauge, re-filed some of my cds, made a phone call; then printed out the copy for editing.

Of course, while that was happening, I had to check my e-mail, some of the blogs I read, the news...

When I realised what I was doing, I stopped myself and got on with it.

Yes, I can say I concentrated until my brother dropped in for a cuppa tea, then we sat and watched the Bears-Vikings game before I returned to do more pages.

It's not that the book is boring; I like it. It's the volume of work to be done and the time it takes. The writing part is (ha!) the easy bit; the editing, well now, that takes more concentration, more thought and more care.

I've done 52 pages and only two of those are clean. The first twenty pages though... oy... are covered in red pen and sticky arrows. I can see, however, that after those pages, I was in 'The Groove'. Text flows much easier and there are fewer paragraphs to re-write. (I am shite at the first thirty-odd pages.)

The dogs need feeding now which is another delaying tactic. Tomorrow is another day, and I have the rest of the week to do all I need before the family arrives for Christmas. I hope it's enough time.

Housewife 49

I saw the most amazing drama last night, called Housewife 49. It's based on the Second World War diaries of Nella Last, the wife of a terse, insensitive man and mother to two, less than ideal sons; one, just as carelessly cruel as his father, the other who shuns her after his 'friend' is killed during the war.

Victoria Wood - better known for her comic roles - stars as Nella Last and is brilliant in the role. Nella begins writing for the Mass-Observation, a project that examined the lives of 'ordinary' people and finds an outlet for expressing the feelings she can't share with her husband.

The astonishing thing about this movie is that you never see a war reel, never see anything of the war really, only the consequences; in lives lost suddenly and more importantly, how the war affected those who survived, in particular, Nella's favoured son, Cliff.

Victoria Wood goes from a woman who is lost within the confines of her marriage and the times, to someone filled with energy and hope as she helps with the local branch of the Women's Voluntary Service. She is no longer alone, no longer isolated in her marriage. As a glimpse into the ordinary lives of people in England during the war, it's a real eye-opener.

I didn't think I'd like it much, but I was riveted from the beginning; by Woods and by the storyline. The stoicism, the grief and the inability of John to communicate effectively with Nella is perfectly played, especially as the film goes on, you see him struggling to come to terms with his wife's new found independence. The world has changed and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Stephanie Cole as Mrs Waite, head of the Women's Voluntary Service, is as formidable as she is progressive. It's easy to see the genesis of the 'liberation' of women in Housewife 49, and if you get the chance to see it, it's worth a look.

Madhouse

It's been a madhouse around here for the last couple of days; you'd think Christmas was this weekend!

I've finished the Christmas present shopping (I do my Mother's as well), wrapped them all, done the housework, mowed the lawn and just come back from a present exchange with my sister up on the Highlands - about an hour and a half drive - oh, and picked up her dog to look after for a couple of weeks. Man...

This weekend I have my youngest sister and her boys coming down for some time at the beach and a prezzo swap since she won't be here for Christmas.

Here they come:

Just in case you forgot what season it is, this photo is the Santa Bike Ride. As you can see, everyone dresses up and rides to the pub some three kilometres away.

It started last year and this year there are nearly twice as many riders; I have no doubt that next Christmas, there'll be even more.

Each Santa donates money to the Volunteer Rural Fire Brigade and, at the end of the ride, there's a sausage sizzle, or barbeque and few cleansing ales, which, now that I think about it, is a really good reason for buying a bicycle and joining in! Shame it only happens once a year.

And there they go:

My one complaint is that in previous years, the Fire Brigade always had a slow parade down the street and tossed sweeties to all and sundry; no such luck now. Ah, well, my waist don't need no more sugah.

I think our brand new, crispy clean kerb and guttering looks rather nice. The Council boys did an excellent job, even laid down new turf. All I have to do, is keep the new grass alive... or I could just leave it alone to grow and not mess with it at all.

Spiced Solstice

It's time to make Hypocras, and I'll need a few bottles of the stuff. What is it? It's spiced wine.

Hypocras is a beverage steeped (ha!... sorry...) in history. Although it's named after Hypocrates, it's a medieval drink. Yes, I know, the Romans drank spiced wine but I suspect it used different spices.

King Henry the VIII drank Hypocras to aid digestion after his two hour brunch. His had gold flakes in it, but I think I'll forego that.

Hypocras is an acquired taste: half my family love it; the other half says it tastes like medicine. The best thing is, it makes the whole house smell like an English Christmas; must be the cinnamon, cardamom and cloves with the pine tree.

I use a modified recipe - without the ambergris which is "an opaque, ash-coloured secretion of the sperm whale intestine, usually found floating on the ocean or cast ashore: used in perfumery." Dictionary.com.

There are plenty of recipes around: Winemaking has a number of recipes, but it's best to fool around with a recipe until you get one you like.

I first had Hypocras at a Medieval banquet a couple of years ago. It was the kind of drink I couldn't seem to stay away from. Every time the wench put a bottle on the table, I refilled the small tankard. The food was from authentic recipes and exceptionally tasty - I still have the menu printed in fine script.

One year, I think I'll try my hand at having a Medieval Banquet for Solstice. Might be hard work, but it will be worth it; just have to gather the family for it.

History's Echo

‘What if…’? A question every writer asks in order to create. It’s usually followed by ‘and then…’.

As fiction writers go, Harry Turtledove comes to my mind when thinking of alternative history. He asked himself questions like: what if the Confederacy won the American Civil War (Southern Victory series), what if aliens invaded in the middle of World War II (World War and Colonisation series). And Robert Harris asked what if Nazi Germany defeated the allies in Fatherland; his answer is chilling.

In non-fiction, leading historians have asked the same question: What if JFK hadn’t been assassinated? (Camelot Continued by Diane Kunz in Virtual History ed. By Niall Ferguson) Or if the Japanese either invaded Pearl Harbour, or didn’t attack it at all? Or there was no American Revolution, or that the Brits won it? That the Gunpowder Plot succeeded, that Arch Duke Ferdinand and his wife weren’t assassinated or that the Black Plagues never arrived? Or even that the Dutch decided to colonise Australia rather than the English?

Any one of these can be described as a turning point in history. In each case, the world we live in would be a very different place.

How about if the Roman General, Varus, defeated Arminius? Rome hadn’t suffered such a defeat since Hannibal and his elephants three hundred years earlier. The consequences of Arminius’ victory echoed down history for centuries.

Major-General J.F.C. Fuller, a military historian of the last century, suggests that the defeat of Varus had far reaching consequences than Augustus demanding ‘where are my legions?’

For centuries, Arminius represented the pride of Germany; a statue of ‘Hermann’, as Martin Luther christened him, stands at Detmold in the Teutoborg Forest wherein he lured Varus and his legions to their deaths. Described as a brilliant tactician, Arminius was twenty-five when he destroyed Varus and kept the Romans out of that area of Germany until his death by assassination ten years later.

The Romans never really conquered the Germanic tribes again, and it is this that resonates through history because Arminius was used throughout history as a symbol of German nationalism.

Fuller postulates in his Decisive Battles: Their Influence upon History and Civilisation, that if the Romans had defeated Arminius, the Germanic tribes would have been totally incorporated into the Empire and ‘civilised’; no more inter-tribal conflicts. Pax Romana would have held sway and Europe wouldn’t have been plunged into the conflicts it subsequently had; that there would be no Kaiser Wilhelm, and no Adolf Hitler.

Personally, I wonder if another ‘Arminius’ wouldn’t have risen up to wrestle Germania from the grip of Rome. But, there again, history would have taken another dramatic turn.

The comparison, I suppose would be Roman Britain and what happened there some sixty years later. Of course, where Boudicca failed in Britannia, Arminius succeeded in Germania and history stands.

What a different world we’d be living in if the results were reversed?

The Great Slaughter

For the past three days, I've been reading Les Carlyon's epic history of The Great War - at least, the Australian side of it.

Australians grow up venerating the tragic sacrifices of Gallipoli - our first major test in battle; and we all know who to blame for that disaster. Through poor planning and arrogance, the boats landed at the wrong end of the Gallipoli peninsular.

But it wasn't just the Australians who were slaughtered, in fact, the Brits and Canadians lost more. It was, however, our 'baptism of fire' in a war just beginning. Winston Churchill - yes, that one - lost his job over it and rightly so.

What happened in Europe - which this book deals with - beggars belief. If Gallipoli was a defeat, then the Western Front was an unmitigated disaster for the Aussies; and for the same reason. British generals who quiet literally fucked up in major ways. Worse, they were never called to account for that wholesale murder of troops.

Carlyon, in parts, tries to ease off on the criticism of the generals: Haig, Gough, Haking, Birdwood, McCay were the worst offenders. Haig, for example, never saw the ground the troops had to fight across. He and Gough searched throughout the war for the ultimate cavalry charge through the gap. Nor did the generals appreciate the advantage artillery gave them. Carlyon fails in trying to present a less critical picture because the facts, casualty figures, personal diary entries, dispatches contradict virtually every attempt to lessen the blame.

Time and again, Gough oversaw ill-planned attacks and wasted thousands of lives - not just Australians, but British, New Zealanders, Indian, Sengalese, Canadians... and never thought it a bad thing. He and Haking were of the opinion that 'character' would see the troops to the enemy trenches. If not, well then...

This book is a best seller here - in hardback - which is surprising for an almost 900 page tome on a part of history 90 years past. But Carlyon mixes dry recitations with excerpts from soldiers diaries and from Australia's official war historian C.E.W. Bean. Bean spent his time in the trenches with the men and with the commanders further back once he'd understood what was going on.

I used Bean for my History thesis at University; if Carlyon had written this book then, it would have been invaluable to me. Within it's pages, I found a clue to my grandfather's own diary. He'd been wounded, but, in transcribing the diary, I had to guess at where he was. Turns out he was wounded at Fromelles - one of Gough's disasters. The diary doesn't say, but from Carlyon's book, I can fit the pieces of the puzzle together and say Pa had his legs shot up bad enough to spend two months in England recuperating before returning in time for the ugliness of the Somme.

In another curious twist, I also discovered that a previously unknown great uncle, on my mother's side, was killed at Theipval, on the Somme while my grandfather - from my father's side was less than three miles away. My grandfather's diary entry for the day? B., C., and D. came out of line this morning covered with mud. Must be terrible in the line. He was big on the understatement.

It's unfortunate I only had one of his diaries for a month before handing it back to my grandmother; there were six in all and I would have loved to have read them. Sadly, she gave them away to people who weren't family.

When I'm done with this book, I'll get back to writing. For now, though, this stuff is as riveting as it is tragic.

Seasonal Stories

So I'm cogitating a Christmas story. It won't be one from the archives, but one I'll write speshully.

It got me to thinking about other 'religious holiday' stories. They're usually about the meaning of Christmas, ie, good will to all men, love, peace and the giving; not the overt commercialism. This time of year, you think about a lot of other things, too. Here in Australia, it's the beach, the heat, the flies, the barbeque, the cheeriness of everyone. In the northern hemisphere, I suppose it's all about the snow, the warmth of a fire, roasting chestnuts (blech), the cosiness. Around the world, Christmas - or the season - means different things.

But stories about the season revolve around Christendom. I've never seen, for example, a story about for Ramadan or Hannukah or any of the great religious festivals. Pagans celebrate the Solstice a few days beforehand, but here, there are no crops to go Wassailing around during Summer and I've not seen a story regarding the Solstice.

Is it simply a case of Western readers not being interested unless it deals with Christmas? Or do writers not write them because they're about a religion not their own and it's not profitable? Is there market for non-Christian stories?

For me, Christmas stories haven't been about the day; they've always been about the surrounding emotions, but Christmas is the catalyst.

This story is going to be a challenge. Not because I'm Pagan and still pissy at the Church taking over sacred days - a whole other argument - but how to engender the feelings these stories evoke in a reader without mentioning Christmas. Can I do that because the story will be posted close to Christmas Day? Can you have a Christmas story without the word?

Guess I'm gonna find out.

Dark and Stormy

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Well, not night, but it's been a dark and stormy day. Heavy rain, thunder, lightning. Our new curb and guttering is up to the task though - bless those workers who finished laying down the asphalt yesterday... The dog, of course, isn't a happy camper and is annoying the hell out me wanting to snuggle; tough if you're writing. Worse since we're experiencing a La Nina event this summer and expect more storms...

I've finally got around to trawling through my short story archive and posted a piece on the Takeaway. It's a little icky in parts, and has some 'harsh' language, but I like it. Maybe you will too.

I can hear the sky rumbling again, so it's time to shut down everything.

Life's too short

Every now and then, you read... try to read a book that you thought would be good.

The one I've just thrown across the room started off brilliant. I'm not Christian so to read about a devout Christian was an interesting exercise. No bible-thumping, though, just some kick ass action... in the first part.

The second part descended into a self-indulgent lecture on what goes on at a convention and the personalities involved; including - if you can believe it - the ill-disguised names of real writers, slush parties, the 'outsider' angst of the people who attend and, even more unnecessary, a comment on the 'women don't understand science fiction' argument from SFWA, thinly disguised as either a real comment or a tongue-in-cheek snark. (Since I'm not a part of the 'in' crowd the author runs with, I don't know and couldn't care less.) I couldn't cope. It bored me to f***ing tears.

And it was a waste, too, because the subject matter was intriguing. Unfortunately, I have no interest in wading through all the bullshit loosely disguised as a search for information on a killer. Why the editor allowed this section is beyond me; it's worse than a pot boiler!

In the writer's defence, I've just come back from the public wrestling match that is Christmas shopping, so that may explain the virulence. I sure as hell won't try to finish the tripe and I will, in future, hesitate to buy more.

Life is too damn short to waste on stupid fiction.

Stats

I'm finally getting around to the stats of Nano.

Worst day: 30th with 1816 - epilogue;
Best day: 26th with 12361 - your eyeballs hurt after a while and your fingers go all dyslexic;
Average: 6691.77 - which means you can have excellent days and shockers and still do well overall.
Pages: 880 double; 440 single - well, duh.
Books: Two.
Word count for each: 132056 and 75389 - one's gonna have chunks cut out and the other needs more.
Total: 207445
Result: Two books, ignored housework, jungle for a backyard, overdose of caffeine, too much snackage, not enough exercise, lack of sleep, one sulking muse, one over-the-top, getting-up-my-nose, smug inner athlete who's lookin' to die, one proud family and one exasperated sibling demanding publication.

So it's done. Nano is over and I won't mention it again - well, until I get down to editing, that is. I'm not sure when that will be: my edit pile is rivalling my tbr pile - so not a good thing. What's the point of doing all this hard work if I'm not doing anything with it?

I'm going to post a short story this week and another just before Christmas, probably on the Solistice... if I can get this tired brain of mine working again. Coupla shots of Jack, and who knows what kind of tripe I can write!

Resistance is futile

Having written the words 'The End', it was actually quite difficult for me not to head straight back to the computer on Saturday morning.

It's what Nano is about, really: getting writers into the habit of writing. But I resisted the siren's call.

While I did housework (mowing the knee-high lawn, cleaning the kitchen, defrosting the fridge...) ideas kept popping up and where I could do edits. It's hard not to drop everything and race back, to be seduced into doing... stuff. And it would be wrong.

Stories need to sit and catch their breaths too, you know.

And yet, here I am on a Sunday evening, pounding away at the keyboard again.

I tell you, this writing gig is addictive! And there's no cure. Nope. None at all.

Later on this week, I'm going to plunge into some short stories to appease the Muse. She's vengeful - especially after Nano. And the inner athlete wants more, too - the beeyotch.

Something good may come of it; I'll have to wait and see - and wonder, yet again, why I do Nano every year.