![]() Having two cats, both of whom possessing the distinct conviction that they know my schedule as well or better than I do, this is not an unusual affair. ![]() This morning I woke up at Un-Godly o' Clock with the distinct impression that I was being watched. We are probably looking at Sometime Next Year for a release date, and although I have the cover art done, I don't have a copy of the file on the computer I'm on right now, and so that will have to be another blog post later. ![]() In a perfect world, I would promise that it would have a release date of "sometime later this year," but promises to the open air make me uncomfortable, so I will say that Sometime Soon is when I will begin writing again, and Sometime After That I expect to finish the first draft of the book. I have not made an official announcement as of yet, but as I am sure you have gathered, being a clever reader as you are, that my third (and hopefully final) installment of The Historian's Archives (or at least the arch that deals with Lia's and Sebastian's roles in Sanctuary), is half-way underway in that words have been written, but the second half of the story has been temporarily postponed. The point is that I've got about 51k of my new book, which I desperately want to finish, but feel like I can't give proper attention to without ignoring my students, and then on the first day that I might be able to write a bit, I leave my personal laptop and all my files at home, in a place where I can't get to them, because somehow if I had brought them with, it would have broken the magic spell of School Wide Timed Writing, and the whole campus might have been swallowed by the la boca del infierno that I'm pretty sure exists under my home town. And I use that analogy purely because the word "carafe" has been recently reintroduced into my vocabulary, and I think it's so much fancier than "coffee pot" so it should be used all the time. That generally means that books and short stories get poured back into the carafe and set on the burner like that third cup of coffee that you wish you had time for before you leave for work. It's difficult for me not to write anything for long stints of time, but most of what I end up producing during the school year is approximately as clear as the window of a school bus that's been slept on by eight different kids without a washing, and not nearly as interesting to look at. It is the worst possible time for me to write anything that involves even a little bit of brain. Here's the thing about the academic year:
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