November 26-December 23:

Apologies–but the month just got away from me. It included two quasi bad falls (possible small fracture in my foot on Thanksgiving and another in December carrying a box of books and wearing (well-named) slippers. That last one gave me bruises on both palms which is how I broke the fall.

In-between were trips to Charleston SC to do an early Christmas with my grandkids and son Jason and d-i-l Joanne, and a trip into New York which included seeing my S&S editors, my agent, my Scholastic/Cartwheel editor, dinners and lunches with friends, and an evening of theater in which Patti LaPone and Mandy Patinkin strutted their enormous talents across the stage.

I got an early copy of  Take Two, the book of twin poems done with J. Patrick Lewis, as well as early copies of How Do Dinosaurs Eat Cookies. Jpegs of Curses, Foiled Again, How Do Dinosaurs Celebrate Christmas, and How Do Dinosaurs Celebrate Chanukah, a jpeg of the cover of Curse of the Thirteenth Fey, and as color proofs of Waking Dragons, all of which cheered me enormously. Though I also had a bunch of books put out of print and the rights reverted to me.

At home, with other folks driving me (because of the injured foot), I had several dinners out with friends. Did a small reading at Back Pages Books in Waltham, MA of Things To Say to a Dead Man, and an even smaller signing in West Hartford B&N for Last Dragon, though a much better-attended signing with Rebecca Guay for Last Dragon in Northampton’s Modern Myths book/game store ended my book travels for the year.

Son Adam and family showed up December 17 for a projected twelve day holiday stay and so far we have had a ball doing family stuff like jigsaw puzzles, dancing, singing, card games, Clue, Jenga, watching endless videos of Big Bang Theory (Bazinga!) while laughing hysterically, etc. And eating. Did I mention eating?

Adam and I have been barreling along on writing the first book of the Seelie Wars Triology, which is called Snail and the Prince for now.

And I am simultaneously writing a lot of adult poetry, working on a short fantasy story about Disraeli and Queen Victoria, and puttering a bit with Centaur Field, the novel.

Time for a vacation. Er–isn’t that what the falls have been about? Forcing me to slow down?

Interstitial Moment

Sometimes my Muse has the attention span of a two-year old. The only way to treat her (without having her go into a full-blown temper tantrum– aka writer’s block) is to distract her. It’s the same thing you do with said two year old.

So I try 1. chocolate  2. a long walk   3. tea with old friends   4. a favorite movie  5. or (more usually) by turning to a different project altogether.

At that point (again, like the two year old) she looks up, sees me doing something else which is much more interesting than her current tantrum, comes over to get a closer look, and before you know it, she and I are playing “Trot Trot to Boston” on my knee, or dancing around the room, or snuggling together while reading a special book or. . .by writing. Maybe not on that old blocked project, but on something else truly wonderful, the words just flowing, flowing, flowing.



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