I woke to more snow. Currently, it's still snowing, and there's "freezing fog," and it's 23˚F, with the windchill at 15˚F.

I spent yesterday making notes for The Tindalos Asset. I let Jonathan Strahan know that it's unlikely I'll make the deadline, and he's contacting Tor.com, and I'm waiting.

Fuck.

I'm not supposed to be here.

Later,
Aunt Beast




2:54 p.m.