Furthermore...

I just posted over in writefantastic, about how I have struggled to have forty-eight hours off, and am now capitulating in order to start the new book.

Yup. How sad this is, he can't survive two days without a megaproject to angst about. But! New book! New series! Whole new world!

First line, this or thisabouts:

They called the fog Her breath, the Dragon-in-Chains'.

How could I conceivably not want to go on and write the second line, from that? I mean, the book's not ready to write yet, the stock's barely begun to bubble and the beans are hard as bullets and the meat is tough as shoe-leather; but if I wait till I feel prepared I'll wait for ever. I can read and write, consecutaneously; and even think a little, if I need to. And this scene is ready. The yellow fog that rubs its muzzle on the windowpane, that is very ready.

And yes, it has dragons innit. And no, they are not metaphorical.

And yes, this is one of my Taiwan books. I shall be juggling them with both hands shortly.

And now I am going to feed the cat, because it is his tea-time; and then I shall begin. Wish me luck.