MIA, and the comfort of rocks.

This is where I fling myself on the mercy on the blogosphere and humbly beg all your pardons for not reading not commenting not posting not doing basically any of the things that a good, friendly, productive blogger should be doing. Yes. I am socially inept. Yes, I am innately a hermit.

And yes, I am going to give you excuses.

It all started out innocently enough, as a desire to write a little non-twee story for the Impling. This, of course, snowballed into a full-fledged novel of gargantuan proportions, complete with research into late Victorian fashion, recreation, and architecture, drawings of floor plans, essays on politics and society, and endless pondering, editing, second guessing, and stalling.

I have a first draft, and the beginning of a mock up.

Yay me.

Now I have to do the illustrations.

Not that I'll be able to actually do anything with them since my Mac G4 is for all intents and purposes, dead. Until I can finance a new power board and/or new logic board. Money I don't have. Until we get that new job next year.


Also, just in case you don't feel my craziness, we STILL are waiting for the lawyer to do his lawyer-fu with the contract from Maine, so we can sign the damn thing already and send it back to the people who are offering us our next paycheck, our new community, hell, our new life in general.

I like my rock. I'm going to crawl back under it now.