Just checking in

I’ve got some sort of respiratory thing again, sorry I missed the sunday serenity post. Just not feeling well.

IT will pass. It always does.

So it’s a monday, I lost my voice, and I’m trying to force myself to take it easy.

This week’s agenda;

Get back to my workouts – kinda fell off the wagon (again) when I started getting sick and dealing with sick kids.
Finish the Angel story – seriously this should be done already.
I would like to finish the Inside the Author’s Mind series of shorts, there are three more I want to write then I can get to formatting, new cover and have them ready for release. In Sept I plan on packaging all of them into a collection, but I need to finish them first! 3 little shorts, probably less than 3k each.

I’ve been debating posting the release schedule I worked up, however some changes to RL stuff means I need to rework it. But here are two things I’m positive are on the board;

The Fallen – post apocalyptic fallen angel thing – Late May, early June
Inside The Author’s Mind Collection – Six stories of what it is like to be a character/story element. There are three out right now, I need to write the other two – September

There are more plans but right now a lot of that hinges on RL stuff and the fact I AM on vacation.

Hope you all have a good week. Will try to update again thurs or friday depending on life stuff.

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Angel snippage

Wrote this this afternoon/evening/night and thought I’d share. Yes words are still flowing, and I’m still trying to finish this thing.


“You have become the recluse they always accused you of being.” The archangel stood, blocking the exit to the subway, pale wings spread wide.

“Hello Raphael.” Fallen pushed past him, hoping the archangel would follow him instead of going further into the subway. Not even the greater hosts of Heaven knew about the Life Force.

“What are you doing here, Fallen?” Raphael followed, almost running to catch up. Fallen glanced his way. The ‘younger’ archangel was of a later brood. Blond instead of white hair, blue eyes that pierced through the hearts and souls of mortals, instead of the pale gray from the earlier broods.

“My duty.”

“There are rumors going around.”

“What sort?” Fallen didn’t care, rumors always abounded in the greater cities of the sky.

“They say you saved a mortal who was trying to destroy the dome.”

Fallen forced himself to keep walking. “Who said?”

“Some of the cherubim.”

Fallen glanced towards the shadows. He felt the underlings and the reavers attentive. They would find the sneaky little arrow totting bastards and take care of them. Cherubim were like imps of hell. Thousands, spawned by the great mothers hidden in the floating cities. He turned on Raphael who took several steps backwards hands out.

“Fallen…” he began.

“You were told to keep those shit eaters out of my territory.” Fallen growled.

“I never sent them here. Gabriel did.” Raphael clamped a hand on Fallen’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have sent them in.”

Fallen snorted. “What interest does Gabriel have in me?”

“There are odd happenings going on in the city.” Raphael glanced upwards and let his hand drop. “The father, the son, and the Dark angel have been busy with a game.”

“Game?” Fallen blinked.

“Old mortal board game, buying and selling with bits of plastic. They started about a century ago and are still playing. Listen, there is something happening, apathy fills the great cities.” Raphael looked down, not meeting Fallen’s eyes. “Some say tis better to take control while the father is not paying attention.”

Fallen stared. Schism?

“They feel the First Rank would interfere.”

“Why? I have not been to the Great City since…”

“You are, and we became because you fell.” Raphael looked up at the city again. “I must go. Guard yourself a bit closer than you have. Your life may depend on it.”



And I’m not sure how this will tie into everything else, but as always it all just got complicated. mwahahaha!!!!

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Ranty McRanty-pants

I will start by saying this is a rant, brought on by one too many people shoving the idea that if you don’t want to be published you’re not a ‘real’ writer.  I’ve heard it in multiple places, from multiple know-it-all asses.

I call bullshit on that.


Do you write blog posts, journals? Private journals? Stories that are your precious, secret things that you just can’t bear anyone seeing? Poetry? Songs? Limericks? Guess what? You’re a writer.

That’s right. You are a writer. Do you know why? Because you write. It’s just that simple.

Repeat after me; if you write, no matter what your ultimate goals are FOR that writing, you’re a writer. If you have trouble remembering it, scribble it on a post-it note and put it on your mirror, tattoo it backwards on your forehead. If you write, you’re a writer. Period. And don’t believe anyone who says otherwise.

Got it?

Let it sink in and we’ll move on to the next issue that has completely, 100% pissed me right the hell off.

**takes a deep breath**

There is this idea that if you need emotional support as a writer you shouldn’t be writing. This idea is so asinine, so blatantly stupid that it makes my head hurt. I’ve seen it often, usually spouted by someone who doesn’t have a real strong grip on reality and human interactions. Sadly I see it spouted on social media where gullible new writers could and do stumble on it.

You see as a writer we communicate with each other. Often for emotional kickback. I tell someone I’m not well, I get hugs. I get the emotional kick that someone gives a damn about me, and though I still might feel ill, I emotionally feel better knowing that someone cares. Humans communicate and often it is laced with emotion. When I write, or read, I am going on an emotional journey.

I am, last I checked, human. Humans are social animals. Most of us want to be around, or in contact with other humans on some level or another. It is how we are put together. I remember in Stephen King’s The Stand, the character Glen(I think), talked about how people after catastrophe would gather together in groups. It always stood out to me, because it rings true. Many people want to be around people.

We want to share experiences, we want to be acknowledged. When a friend got a rejection letter on a project, myself and others rallied around her, gave her ehugs and encouragement. When another friend lost someone in his family, again there was emotional support for him. It’s the human thing to do. It’s natural. It’s good.

Writers often write about people, people who catch our imagination. We are moved emotionally in one way or another towards characters. Ever seen UP? The first 15 min is almost exclusively without words, yet it is a poignant and emotional journey. I have not met anyone yet who has not shed a tear while watching that part.

We, as writers, have an obligation I guess you could say, to give the reader an emotional connection with the characters. I read Neil Gaiman’s Neverware, not for the main character (he annoyed the shit out of me) but because I wanted to know what happened to a minor/sidekick character. I was emotionally caught up in HER story (I would LOVE to see a sequel, because there were a lot of unanswered questions about her).

Having an emotional support group as a writer, can be a GREAT THING. Being able to interact with other writers often gives a writer an opportunity for learning, growing, and expanding as a person and as a writer. I’ll admit, not everyone needs it, not everyone desires it, that’s OKAY. I’m not saying you HAVE to find an emotional support group. But to spout off that if you DO feel you need it, that you shouldn’t be in the writing business, is arrogant and self-defeating. Spouting it on a social network platform; facebook, livejournal, blogger, twitter or any of those… well it makes me wonder about a person’s IQ.

Every person, every writer is on their own journey. And with writing there is no ONE WAY to do it. Just because MY way isn’t YOUR way doesn’t mean I’m better than you, or that you are better than me, it means we work in different ways. But I WILL object to you spouting off that YOUR way is the BEST and ONLY way and acting like you know it all. You don’t. I don’t. I’ve heard authors, who have been in this business for DECADES, talking about learning new things. You should never stop learning as a writer.

If you’re naïve enough to believe you know it all, I think you’re going to be in for a huge shock. I worry about the new writers who come so full of hope and dreams only to be crushed under the wave of arrogant ‘advice’ out there by people who don’t have a fucking clue what the hell they are doing let alone telling OTHER people how to do it too. I’ve seen too many new writers get jaded and overwhelmed by that sort of ‘advice’.

Go write, whatever it is that moves you, that you feel pulled to write. You’re a writer. No matter how many shoulders you need to lean on, or how few. No matter if you want to get published traditionally, self publish or a hybrid of the two, or keep your writing to yourself in a secret drawer. You are a writer. And don’t let anyone, ANYONE convince you otherwise.

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2013-02-21 08.06.02



I know that a lot of folks think I am crazy. And they’d probably be right, but I love this weather. I love seeing the snow falling. Don’t worry, give me a couple years and I’ll start bitching about it along with everyone else. 😛

It is a day to snuggle under blankets with toddlers, to have hot coco and hot soup. It’s a day to stay inside, read, and/or write.

Speaking of, the fallen angel thing is sitting at about 6k. I thought I could bring it to a close around 10k but now I’m not so sure. This has got to be one of the weirder stories I’ve written.

Now I need to get to it, then get dinner stuff on. You know the glamorous life of an author.


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Not much of an update

This morning when I took son to the bus stop, the inside of my nose froze. It was crinkly and weird as I tried to breathe through my mouth. My son, who is 6, thought it was funny that mom was making such weird faces.

Ahh new places, new experiences.

In the Zander stories, the climate where he lives is, at times, brutal. Very cold, very unpleasant. But I never thought of freezing nostrils. Of the chilling cold on the face. We just didn’t have that in OK. Or CA where I’m originally from.

I can see new scenes for the Zander stories.

Hope you have a good monday. **Waves**

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some things

First of all, this dude wins. Just…he wins.

Slave Leo


Read it look at the pictures, He’s not bad looking at all. Go him. And the worksmanship is just awesome.



Disclaimer: I am still on vacation. **nods** Really, I am.

I was part of a conversation between two friends of mine about goals and characters. The one has been struggling with character issues for a story for a while. The other has ten or eleven books written/pubbed traditionally and has won awards and stuff. I will have to ask her permission before I drop names. but suffice to say she has a LOT of experience, and is someone I HIGHLY respect. Her books are fun too.

She talked about problems with some of her stories and one in particular that had a goal that wasn’t strong enough to carry the whole book. She talked about her methods of finding a better goal and in the process the mc focal point of the story changed. It’s fascinating, and very educational. I was listening, munching on popcorn and thinking about my own books, My own stories and the struggles that I have had with them. And taking notes, checking goals.

We’ll get back to that in a moment, because the night before I was chatting with some of my OTHER pals and we were discussing release dates, serials and stuff like that. And we talked about trilogies.

There is a line of thought, that I encountered years ago, that trilogies are cliche. That they are outdated. No one likes them yadda yadda yadda. At some point a long time ago I got it into my head that writing a trilogy is BAD. I decided I would never write a trilogy.

So we were discussing reader habits. and trilogies. and a little whisper in my head reminded me that years ago, BP and Crossroads was supposed to be a trilogy. I shoved the idea down. No. Not gonna go that route.

Woken up, though, the thought, the urge to make it a trilogy just wouldn’t go away.

Then I sat in on that other conversation. And it hit me. The goal thing. Bastard Prince  covers about 17 years. The goal is hard to define. But if I break it up… I can see two very distinctive goals, possibly three, which would hold their own in their own novels, but smooshed in that time frame, they get lost. Bastard Prince can become a trilogy.

Let me say it again (It’s making the lazy inner writer scream in horror)

Bastard Prince can become a trilogy.

And the mind opens up. Scenes that were blank are filling in in my head because I am giving myself the permission to go more into depth on Zander’s years in the Northern Empire. Because those scenes were just the tip of the iceberg  The conspiracies, the interactions with people. The culture which captured my imagination…

It feels right.

It means a lot more work. BP is roughly finished and I’ll just keep writing on it in one chunk.

So where does this leave my other projects? 

Well that’s a good question there. I have a lot and sometimes it really gets overwhelming trying to pinpoint which one I need to work on next. And there’s the whole vacation thing.

I’m supposed to be backing away, taking a break. Taking a breather. So I am just going to get the Angel thing ready for a late May release. Other work will be decided on after that.


Tony Horton, fitness trainer and creator of the P90X workout system, has a saying ‘Do your best, forget the rest.’

It’s become my mantra in many areas of my life lately. Working out is challenging, especially with toddlers underfoot. Sometimes I mess up, sometimes I have to stop and chase kids. That’s ok. I am working on doing my best. Working out with intensity. Nothing matters. I’m doing my best. It is very liberating.

I feel much better without stressing or feeling guilty for making mistakes.

That said, turbofire beckons and so does the kitchen.

Hope you all have a great Wednesday!

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Sunday Thoughts

I meant to post something yesterday but totally forgot.  It has been a rough week for me, a lot going on.

Weight; I’ve lost 18 lbs and overall 4 inches since I started Turbofire last July. Now I have NOT been consistent with my diet or following the exercising, yet I’m still losing weight. **YAY**

I’m currently two weeks into my consistent workouts and eating right, I haven’t weighed myself since Tuesday and I’m not going to until next tues. I feel better, I can feel the changes. Just need to work on getting to bed early.

Writing: I’ve been working on the fallen angel thing. Yes, I am still on vacation 😉 but the story is very loud in my brain. I blame J.A. Marlow for it. Yes JA I am publicly blaming you for it!!! 😀  Seriously though  I am very happy to be working on this thing, so I shouldn’t complain.

I am putting together my business plan and release schedule for the next year. There is a lot to think about and now that things are settling down, I think I can start re-focusing on my writing business.

Overall; Life is good. Next Sat we will be celebrating 1 year out from Oklahoma. Hubs and I were talking about doing a celebration or something. I love where we’re living, and though this past year has been brutal, it has been worth it.




Help Never Came

Life in the post-zombie-apocalypse is full of nasty surprises and many unsolved mysteries, such as old diaries and teddy bears. After saving some fellow survivors Chris and his team find themselves stuck on the wrong side of the river with surging hordes of Zombies moving faster than normal. Worse yet, home base isn’t answering their calls.

Smashwords | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo


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The powerful resource of social media

A few years ago I started reading a blog/serial by  M.C.A Hogarth (I knew of her first via  livejournal) though I’ve been pretty sporadic on LJ lately, I liked seeing her progress with her projects.

So in December when she announced that Amazon had yanked Spots the Space Marine because of a supposed trademark issue I was a bit concerned. IF it could happen to her, it could happen to others. And dear gods don’t get me started on the claim that Space Marine ‘belonged’ to Game Workshop. There are others who were far more verbal about it, and more knowledgeable about the situation. I had never heard of Game Workshop before this started.

M.C.A. Hogarth protested it, after all, the term Space Marine is a common one in the Science Fiction genre (dare I whisper the word ‘cliche’ even?) and the term first came into being in the 30s/40s. Hells bells the stupid that Game Workshop displayed with this, and the bullying they pulled made me see red. (that was the day the website was offline, in retrospect I think that was a good thing. I can be very incoherent when furious.)

So when a friend shared this, announcing that Game Workshop backed down after a slew of people getting on twitter, facebook, reditt, and other venues posting about it  and M.C.A. Hogarth contacted the EFF, I bounced, cheered and startled my kids by my hooting.

Yes I just went and bought a copy of Spots the Space Marine

Just because M.C.A. Hogarth is a self pubbed author doesn’t give anyone the right to tromple over her books. This issue is sure to come up again. We need stay vigilant and get mad and do what we can to help fellow authors/artists stand against bullying of this nature.

Congrats M.C.A. Hogarth! Thank you everyone who got mad and spread the news.

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Sunday Snippage

I know, I know, it’s sposed to be Snippet Sat, but I missed a day. Here’s a snip from the current thing that took fire in my brain*.



He glided over the black goop that filled the basin north of the city. His guest wouldn’t be going anywhere. He did feel regretful that she’d been wounded, but it was better than death, wasn’t it? She deserved death for her interference. He sighed. When word got around, he’d have hell to pay.

Mist rose from the surface of the black goo. Devils blood the mortals called it, but it wasn’t, not entirely. Gaia bled for her betrayal. As the sun set, the fog thickened and he was the only light source, a dim light, but a light nonetheless. He was The Fallen, older than time, though not as old as the father. His light would never totally fade.

He maneuvered through the thick flocks of night terrors moving northward. He warned them, leave his home alone. They acknowledged, curious but not enough to change their flight pattern. As he neared the southern coast the sun had made it back to the east and it peeked over the horizon sending long rays of light piercing through the fog. Fallen flinched tucked his wings in and dove sharply towards an old jumbled pile of rubble that once, long ago, was a lighthouse. He landed, kneeling, head bowed, facing the rising sun.

I greet thee. He let the thought sit. Waiting.

How art thou, Fallen? She responded as she always did.

I exist, mother.

The city? The life source?

Protected. As it always has been.

Be happy, my son.

As the first brilliant rays of light passed by him, he felt the fragile connection broken. He sighed, stood, and lifted himself back into the sky to continue his flight towards the city, the dead zone and the Guardians who were mourning their losses.








*Yes I am still on vacation. I just can’t not write.

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Queston and call for research help

As posted on FB;

Ok internets, I am doing research on angels in mythology any site/book recommends that aren’t psychotic paranoia bullshit but actual; according to X this angel is X and stuff like that? I don’t want an over steeping in religious dogma I need the actual references of where this information originated (The Qua’ran, Torah, Bible etc.) 


To properly world-build this I need a bit of historic mythology knowledge from a wide range of sources, not JUST Christianity or what have you.

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New Bunny Snip

So someone showed me this picture of a biomechanical angel with a sword walking down a corridor..and I got hit with this scene;


The wind howled between the empty skyscrapers. Old trash, bits of floating paper drifted through the streets. In what was once a center for trade and international commerce, sat a glowing green dome, encompassing several city blocks. She crouched at the edge of the business district, naked blade in her hand, staring down the corridor between the buildings at the lightning dancing along the surface of the dome.

“It’s time, you know.” The shadow at her feet rasped. She nodded and straightened. “There will be no help from them.

“I don’t expect any.” She glanced above the dome towards the floating city above. “They’ll be watching though.” They always watched.

“They will regret not acting.”

“They don’t give a damn.” She retorted, took a deep breath and began walking towards the dome. The Shadow muttered something. She turned, frowning at it. “What?”

“Nothing.” It wavered at the invisible line between the old city and what they’d come to call the Dead Zone.

“Are you coming?” She asked exasperated.

“Into the dead zone? Are you crazy?” It hissed. She shrugged.

“There are Reavers out there you know.”

“There are trolls and deamons in there!” It shook its ghostly fist.

“Pick your poison.” She turned her back on it, continuing towards the dome. Behind her, she heard it hissing, swearing, and she grinned. It floated in front of her.

“This is the last time I let you drag me into one of these places, do you hear me?” It demanded.

“I didn’t lay a hand on you.” She stepped through it, laughing, glad for the company of even one ill-mannered and grumpy shadow.  Her destiny awaited her at the dome. If she died, at least she wouldn’t be alone.


I should mention that it is not her shadow, rather a wraith she picked up somewhere.

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Flash Fiction

Ok, so I missed it friday, sorry. Better late than never, right?  Enjoy!


Waking The Beast

©2012 Necia Phoenix

The voices echoed through the cave system, bouncing through the unseen cracks in the rocks. Laughter, giggling, the sound of happy youth exploring the unknown. He opened his eyes, listening to the unfamiliar sounds. Closer, the voices came closer.

He stretched his lean, scaled body, preparing himself to go and investigate.  He was a Forgotten. A leftover from a time of darkness, when magic and religious fervor ruled the day. He could see in the darkness, and propelled himself through the narrow forgotten passages, investigating the noise.

Clawed hands gripped the sides of the caves. He squinted in sudden bright light. He was still far below the ground, where had the light come from? He blinked back tears of pain, waiting for his vision to clear.  Standing in the old sacrificial cave were two, things. Soft. They looked soft. Tasty.

On the ground behind them, in the center of the ceremonial cave was a ring of stones. For a fire, no doubt. Beyond it, a safe distance away, two odd mats lay side by side in colors brighter than any he’d ever seen, save the setting sun. Behind them were two bags, traveling packs perhaps?

His attention was brought back to the two things as they inspected the paintings on the walls. They held a tube which streamed a pure white light. And they were using it to direct light all over the inside of the chamber. One turned to the other, shining the tube in the face.


They were humans!

He fought the rage, the growl. He didn’t want them to know he was there, not yet, not till he understood why they came to this sacred place. The struggle was mighty. Their kind had destroyed his home. Destroyed many of his kind. Leaving him and the other survivors in hiding. The hate festering like an open wound. He crept behind a large boulder, pulling his body into a tight coil. Unless they actually touched him, they would see nothing but a pile of rocks. He waited, watching.

They took little time, passing within inches of him. Their words had no meaning, sounds, with nothing to tie him to what they spoke of. Without another look around they returned to the fire-ring and lit the fire, turning off the tube-lights. He watched them slide into the mats. Their voices drowsy, then, nothing.

He uncoiled, moving towards them. Humans. Hate melted into curiosity. These were not the same as those long ago. He crouched staring at their faces, the firelight casting his shadow against the far wall. What were the humans of now like? Had they changed? He looked at the travel bags and a smile crossed his scaly face. He crawled along the edges of the firelight, willing himself smaller, snakelike. He hesitated, glancing around the cave. At the edge of the firelight, he saw eyes watching him, questioning him. He touched the nearest bag and the assembled nodded.

It was time.

He slid into the bag, digging through clothes, supplies and other things he wasn’t sure of. He found an inner pocket and slid into it, cutting a small hole in the side of the bag to see out. He could see the fire, one of the sleeping bags. The others had disappeared back into the rocks, the crevices the humans could never get through.

He waited.

When they woke, they broke up the camp with practiced ease. He did tense when one lifted the bag and he got a confusing blur of walls, ground and ceiling. Then they were making their way through the twisting tunnels, and he saw, through the hole, his fellows, his kin, following at a distance. He waved them back then pulled the hole tight, curling up in a little ball and closing his eyes. He was going into the world again. Yes.

It was time.



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Sunday Serenity

Haven’t done a Sunday Serenity post in a while, so here you have the creek in my backyard;



So yesterday I was supposed to work on Crossroads, but instead I got caught up with a character whose story is about 25 years after Crossroads, so I wrote out a little reunion scene between him and his love interest who haven’t seen each other in about 4 or 5 years, and now he seems to have lurked away into a corner, yet again freeing my brain to play in Zander’s story. If anyone is curious, it is Zander’s son, who looks like he’s going to be as cracktastic to write about as Zander is… I can’t wait to get to his story!

So here is the snip, I don’t know what comes next (my friends are telling me reunion hawt SEX) or what led up to this scene, but enjoy;


Caladorn leaned against the door frame, watching her as she was carefully setting weapons out on the table. She didn’t see him, engrossed in what she was doing. There was a hardness to her, that hadn’t been there before, a few more scars, more confidence. Her hair pulled back in the tight braid with a few stray curls framing her narrow face. Her dark eyes locked on her weapons. She half turned and caught sight of him, halting mid-step, eyes going wide.

“Hello Amora.”

“You came!” She shrieked, he barely moved in time to brace himself for her leap at him. He caught her with a low laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist as her arms slid around his neck, legs around his waist. She kissed him and the cares and worries and annoyances fell away. When they broke apart, she slowly lowered her legs to the floor, leaning against him, not letting go .

“I said I’d visit.” He brushed her hair from her face. Her eyes were overly bright.

“Saying is one thing, doing, is another.” She tipped her head to one side, tracing the thin scar on his jawline her smile fading. “You’re not here just for a visit are you?”


 Have a happy Sunday!

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Flash Fiction Friday – Not.

So I had this up for hours, half wrote a flash fiction and got bogged down by sick kids and a brain that was most disobedient. Darn the thing I kept falling asleep! I just read over the flash fic piece and I have no idea where the heck I was going with it. I’m sorry but I think I have to pass, again, on FFF. OF course it IS a moot point as it is now Saturday.

Anyways, I have been thinking and planning and mostly silent in the blogosphere, mainly because there is so much going on I am hesitant to go into too many details.

Today is the first of December and I think my plan for today is simply get my workout done and get another chapter of Crossroads written. I might even get a snip up here. I stress the might.

As for my december goals; Finish crossroads. That’s it.


Have a great Sat.

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One more day

I am hideously, horribly behind in the NaNo wordcount. That’s ok, 🙂  I’m not too worried about it. It’ll carry on thru december. The ultimate goal, anyways, was just to finish Bastard Prince and Crossroads before Jan.

I will make that. I know I will.

Today, sadly, can’t be dedicated to writing, however. It is a Dr. Appointment day with the munchkins.

There was more I was going to say but I just looked at the time and must zoom.

Have a good thursday people.

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