Left a good job in the city

kinzel is warming up the oven, and plans are afoot to cook the turkey breast he hunt-gathered earlier in the week. I hear rumors of buttermilk biscuits, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and broccoli-or-maybe-asparagus.

In between loads of laundry, I'm writing a synopsis for Carousel Tides. Mozart is asleep on top the file cabinet, which means I can't yet free the office baseboard hot-water heaters from the tyranny of last winter's dust. Pause for a brief moment of nostalgia for the radiators of yesteryear.

If my brain will stay with the program for just a little longer, the synopsis will be in the mail to Madame the Agent next week, which is Good Timing. Starting Saturday-next, my week at Cousin Bean's skyrockets to 52 hours. And here's hoping my voice will hold out.

After the dust clears (sometime in January), I've got a couple short stories to write, then, assuming matters on other fronts haven't clarified, I'm thinking I'll start White Sheep, the third (and final) Jen Pierce book.

Bright blue and white sky here, with no sign of the foretold nor'easter. That's OK.