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.