A very cold morning here. Currently, it's partly sunny, but only 26˚F, windchill at 11˚F. There are snow showers and snow squalls taking place in Rhode Island, but so far they've all missed us. We still have most of Monday's snow on the ground.

I need to make it to the Hay today, to proofread Agents of Dreamland, and I need to make it despite my shitty mood and the cold weather. I can't proofread in this house. I can hardly write here. The Hay lifts my spirits a little. It's clean and warm and open. It's the memory of a better age.

I wish I could say that yesterday was a very productive day, but it wasn't. I did, though, have a good conversation with my lit agent.

And I suppose that's all for now. I want to write something about the importance of role playing to my fiction, but I'm not up to that task at the moment. And we need to get out of here, before my resolve fails and I go back to bed.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast