There’s no escape from the music in the whole damn’ street


I sometimes think I ought to write a non-fiction book about the day-job.

And then I think, “Nah. Nobody’d believe you.”

It snowed today, very prettily, but to no great effect.  Forecasts are for a maximum of three inches accumulation.  Still, we ought now to have snow on the ground for the holiday.

I didn’t write nearly so many words this evening, given various horrifying stupidities elsewhere, but I’m pleased with the words I did write, and some forward motion is better than none.

Progress on The Book Presently Known as George:
11,822 words/100,000 OR 11.82% complete

“It happens that I was working, but I must claim you for my rescue, for I believe I have been working far too long this day.” That style was a little forward of his current ability, she thought — but see what he made of it.

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