January is moving faster than I thought it would, and I’m not thrilled about that. It’s cold here, because January and February are when it gets cold in North Carolina. I bought tomato seeds. This year’s experiments are Bush Beefsteak, Kewalo, and Hawaiian Currant, all from www.tomatofest.com (They don’t pay me. Although they’re welcome to, if they’d like.)
I am editing my next horror novel and plugging away on my next fantasy novel for Tor, a retelling of The Goose Girl, and occasionally poking at the Dervish’s book, which is up to about 15K. It was going slowly because it just felt really grim, and I finally remembered that Swordheart was freakin’ hilarious and this one should be too, so I went back and moved some stuff around and made things funnier and maybe it’ll start flowing again. I dunno. Writing is weird.
Everyone at Wombathaus is healthy, thankfully, except my Mom in our West Coast satellite location. She had to get something called The Whipple Procedure. This involves slicing and dicing and rewiring your innards to remove anything that might have touched a cancer cell, except that the biopsy lab is backed up to hell and back, so they don’t even know if it was a cancer cell, but they’re acting as if it was. This is a seriously major bit of surgery and they didn’t really warn her about the recovery period and that it would involve being on a feeding tube, potentially for months, and totally bedridden. My kid brother and his girlfriend are taking care of her and so far it’s going well, but make a note–if you ever get this, you are not going home to sleep it off and then getting back to work. Yikes!