Review!

Desdaemona by Ben Macallan, reviewed by a fan of the genre.

Who is now a fan of the book. Money shot:

The story is beautifully told from Jordan's POV. His descriptions of Desi, the places they find themselves, their interactions and their run ins with some nasty badasses are beautifully done. I could feel the story in my gut. Each puzzle piece is laid out perfectly. Everything that is revealed makes sense. And the ending! OMG!!

Hee. It is, I confess, the best ending. Trouble is, now I have to follow it...

An exercise in contrasts

I have - as you know, Bob - a fiancée. Sometimes everything about that statement scares me silly, but every now and then I do need to remember to mention that she's awesome. 'Cos she is.

Me, on the other hand? Not so much. I guess this is that crash that is not so much predictable as inevitable, after the hectic rush of the last week and the kick of the gig on Thursday. It's not that the pressure's off, actually; it's just shifted gear. The Phantoms deadline was unmissable and immediate; the next one's, ooh, the end of next month. (Which my foolish brain keeps miscalculating as two months away. Um, no. Eight weeks: for one of which I'm away with friends, and two of which I'm with Karen. Let's call it five weeks, then. During which I have to write a novel. Um, aaargh?)

Anyway. Yesterday I was craven; today I'm just grey and glum. As is the weather. It's raining, and I don't want to walk to the Lit & Phil in that, thanks. I'm only going to read stuff anyway; I could do that here. I have the technology. And I could do usefulnesses between pages. I could clean the house. I just had to defluff Mac's whiskers, where he'd picked up a dust-bunny. That shouldn't happen to a cat.

Progress, of a sort

I have swept the bathroom and the stairs. Mac has hunted spiders. (In the old days of vacuuming, the cats kept out of the way; these modern days of broom, apparently it's a cat-game. Joy.)

I have cleared a space on the table, for serious reading-of-pages. Barry has settled in to help, in the manner of a paperweight.

Much dust has provoked my asthma, but, y'know. Breathing is optional.