I am terribly, terribly homesick.
Homicidal blue®. It ought to be in the big Crayola box.
There's been work, but no actual writing to speak of since I finished the second chapter of Alabaster: The Good, the bad, and the Bird. Yesterday, I tried to get "The Green Abyss" going again, but kept getting distracted by the window. I'm out of time for this crap. The digest should have gone out days ago. The miniseries should have been finished in September. I should be well into the next novel by now. That's what my life's like.
And I'm homesick for Alabama.
One day soon, I'm gonna write the long entry about the death of Isobel Snow that I've been meaning to write since I allowed her to die, way back on September 30th. Just not today. Not today again.
Last night, we finished Season Four of Game of Thrones. After being somewhat disappointed by Season Three, I was overjoyed at Season Four. Just...wow. And I'm more in love with Tyrion Lannister than ever. Peter Dinklage is just to fine. Gwendoline Christie, too.
I've been reading short stories, by divers hands, and I also read "On the skull of Radinskya (Mammalia) and its phylogenetic position."