This weekend we took my dad to the emergency room to get his foot checked out. He’d had an infection that wasn’t getting better. So they did an ultrasound and no clots. Gave him more antibiotics and he seems to be improving. They drove to CA today and we are watching their dog, who is a littermate for our dogs. He’s pushy and demanding and my dogs are jealous. Pet pet pet pet.
Working on writing stuff. Am now past the halfway point in the next Diamond City Magic book. I have yet to have a title for it. But I’m excited to have made it past the half. At the same time, I look forward at what I have to pack into the now less-than-half and I start freaking out that I will never be able to get it all in. And so the neuroses of writers evolve throughout a book.
This is a snippet from something totally different I’m working on here and there, when especially when I get stuck:
Which means that the trap was meant for us in particular. Why?”
“Because of the box, of course,” a young, feminine voice said.
I spun around to face the door. Just inside was the young woman from the elevator who’d seemed so familiar.
That’s when I realized who she was. The incubus had killed her in Vegas. She was a corpse.