Is it really Wednesday? I get lost in the maelstrom of snow and holidays and vacation - yesterday felt like a Sunday, and I don't even know what today felt like. (I managed to make it to the gym and to the library to work with an eighth grade girl on her amazing story.)
What are we doing right now? My ten year old is reading Behemoth, by Scott Westerfeld, my eight year old is humming Oh Come All Ye Faithful while he finishes a puzzle (did he inherit this humming habit from the great grandfather he never knew?) My five year old is watching Little Bear and my husband is making dinner. And I am blogging under the glow of the Christmas lights. It's all very cozy, isn't it?
Edges has been out for three weeks, and reader response has slowly been trickling in, positive and lovely. I haven't been able to work on my manuscript - it's almost there - almost. The kids have been home and I've been enjoying them, reading aloud (A Wind in the Door and The Hobbit) and watching movies (Nanny McPhee Returns and Hook).
I even got the chance to read a novel, staying up late into the night to finish it. Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. Two narratives - a Nigerian refugee and a suburban London housewife, moral ambiguity. Good stuff.
I'm being called to the dinner table . . . I'll write more on New Year's Eve, when we'll be up at Crosswicks with my mom!