In spite of editing like a maniac all week, I somehow still did not find time to even begin making revisions on my story, which are due in just over two weeks.  I’m petitioning for 28-hour days.  I’ll let you know how that turns out.

I have to confess, part of the reason I haven’t started (aside from the fact that they’re daunting) is that I was off having fun instead of working.  I went to a great Call the Midwife viewing party at a friend’s house, in which I ate a ton of chocolate chess pie and we commiserated over the unexpectedly tragic episode.  (Brace yourself, American viewers.)

The rest of my time was spent dealing with SnOMG, as it’s been dubbed.  My office closed shortly after the snow began, and I still just barely made it home, after the most exciting commute of my life.  I spent the afternoon helping my neighbors push eight or nine cars out of the road, and at night I went for a walk down the middle of the road.  This area of Cary is NEVER quiet, so it was an unearthly experience.

Except for a drunk guy just out of frame.

Walnut Street without a soul in sight.





Books: I usually give an author a couple tries before giving up on them (with a few exceptions–I’m looking at you, Proust).  So even though I wasn’t enthralled by the Alan Dean Foster books I’d read before, I gave Voyage to the City of the Dead a shot.  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to stick with my first verdict: this dude just isn’t for me.  The plot could’ve been good, but I really, really couldn’t stand the characters.  All of the remotely likeable ones died miserably or (spoilers) turned out to be villains or incorporeal beings in disguise.  The protagonists who made it to the end were the most obnoxious of the initial set.   Sorry, Alan!  I tried.