I’m back home now and slowly catching up. It was snowing when we arrived, the truck wouldn’t start, there was a small flood in our basement, a pop can had exploded in a drawer and our car got stuck on an ice patch in the driveway.

But other than that, all is lovely. The sun came out this afternoon, and the vehicles are lined up and functioning.

I also got caught up with my agent, at last: we talked of film rights, ebook contract terms, the impossibility of getting republished in the UK (due to their prejudice against France) and the consequent possibility of me publishing my novels in ebook form there myself. (More on that later.)

And then, of course, we talked of The Next Novel, which she’d just read (in part, at least). She wasn’t as happy with it as I’d hoped she would be. Tears are part of The Writing Life, and that’s a fact. The cure for the dreaded Despond is to simply get to work, which I’ve already begun.

But speaking of tears, I’m just now posting a signed bookmark and bookplate to Rachel Maes, with very fond memories. This is the post I wrote about her shortly after I’d met her and her mother at a reading: Moved to tears. Thank you Rachel, for being such a loyal fan. It means a great deal.