Dumped

To nobody's great surprise, Del Rey won't be publishing Daniel Fox's next series. Dammit. I don't think going through four editors on three books helped any, but the numbers were the killer: just didn't sell enough copies. *glowers at the unbookbuying world*

When the going gets tough, the tough - as we know - go shopping. I am going to buy an unexpected ham-hock.

Fare thee well.

*stands not upon the order of his going, but departs*

"You never change, do you, Planck?"

Cosmic giants observ'd.

Can I go there? Now? C'n I?

The alternative appears to be sitting here and getting sloshed. I was going to start something new tonight, but suddenly this is not the time. I am ... not entirely cheerful just now. Nor confident. I am doing what I can - I shall make baked pasta tonight with many cheeses, and also ham and mushrooms; and I shall make London Particular (that's a pea-and-ham soup, for the ignorant) in the morning, for many lunches - but none of it is apparently enough. I was vaguely wondering where the bottle-top was, but looking for it is too complicated, when it's easier just to finish the bottle. (Or "to complete the bottle", I think I like that better: to help the bottle to its ultimate purpose, which is emptiness.)

It's not that I'm surprised, at all - but you're always surprised, a little, when the thing you anticipate actually happens. And this one's kinda like redundancy without the benefits. We'll be knocking on other doors in the morning, but even so. This time I think I might be screwed.