Winter has finally hit Atlanta. I was actually quite cold this morning, although my friends from back in the Midwest would probably point and laugh if they heard me saying that. But I’ve broken out the sweaters and arctic fleece, and am now tromping around the house in my Grinch slippers. Happily, unlike the ferrets who would rend and tear anything on our feet, Hobkin seems unimpressed and/or unexcited by fuzzy slippers and leaves them alone. He has also, if it’s possible, gotten softer and fluffier–and lazier. Winter is apparently a very important napping month for skunk-kind.
December is here. And, despite my dislike of anything cold and shivery, it’s my favorite month of the year. It’s got Christmas/Winter Solstice with Santa Claus and stockings-hung-by-the-fireplace and sugar cookies and presents and festive cards, and my birthday and New Year’s Eve all in the span of thirty-one little days.
Pfft. No words. No writing. Not even any rewriting. Dammit.
Got a rejection from Crimewave. The editor said “We’d definitely like to see more of your stories though, so please keep trying” which takes some of the sting out. But a “no” is still a “no.”