I am writing. At this point about 200 words at a sitting, once or twice in a day, and my story is growing. It's not a very good story; continuity is about what you'd expect. But that's not the point. I'm writing, and for 5 or 10 minutes at a time I am losing myself in the story, struggling to visualize a truly alien alien.

I have also made notes on two more chapters of Death By Donut, which brings me close to the end. I'm making notes on a part of the book I think will need a complete rewrite, but at least I'm getting clear on what I have and what will need to be kept, moved elsewhere, or otherwise modified.

I have also done routine maintenance on the blog, adding links to my posts from 2020 on the appropriate pages in the header. I'm still eying the mess those long lists are and thinking about organizing them--you know, reviews alphabetical by author, that sort of thing. The truth is, that's about a likely to happen as me color-coordinating my sock drawer (hint for those who don't know me: pigs may also fly).

My goals for the next couple of weeks: continue 1-2 paragraphs a day on the story, and finish the notes on the novel. And: make that LT edition of Death By Library. It really isn't that hard, and Mom's friends are waiting.

That's it. Plenty of goals for the next week or two. I'd like to promise more photos, but I can't make that a promise. I'm sharing when and how it feels okay.


One jagged, worn, but still beautiful iceberg: