I am finally not sick anymore. I had this awful sinus mucus crud throat thing that hung on to me like a bad boyfriend. My nose had turned a most disagreeable shade of red and there were times when I honestly thought I was going to drown in my own snot. But I am better today, actually it was yesterday when I was once again able to swallow without grabbing hold of the kitchen counter and knocking back saliva like it was Clorox. So, it's back to work, not that I ever really let a little thing like a life-threatening viral infection stop me from working. It was just hard to think at times and I was getting myself all wrangled up trying to be wonderful when I felt so terrible. I am finally happy with the direction of my new novel. I was really struggling with it. My muse was hanging from the drapes laughing at me as I tried to pull it together. This is my second novel and I've been giving myself a really hard time over it until I figured out that my problem was that in the course of writing Agnes Sparrow I have forgotten how to start new. Um. So instead of looking at it as a second novel or a next novel, I have decided that it is best for my mental health to think of it as a first novel. It's easier that way. Not as much pressure. But true enough. I suppose all books are different and need to be treated as a first, not second or third. But first. Um.