Bad Chaz, no biscuit

[desperance]

I am a most dishonest creature. I just promised the boys I should send them sunshine from Provence, and, y'know. That doesn't actually lie within my gift, even if there is any to be sent.

This time, in forty-eight hours. Provence. The thought keeps me going, somewhat.

Here, now, it is Vile Wet out there. I have done that classic thing, of going into town all unexpectedly and justifying it to myself by doing half an hour's work at the Lit & Phil, and then walking home all through my long retail route without actually buying anything because, y'know, Provence; and then getting home and remembering all those things that yesterday I thought I might buy in town only I couldn't because I had to stay in for FedEx.

Like, holiday socks. Assuming it's not too sunny for socks, it's good to have holiday socks.

Still'n'all. No matter. I'm not going out again, anyway. Not in that. Vile wet. I shall stay home and exhibit virtue, and finish faffing with this here book proposal and send it away to my agents who are doubtless agog. *nods*

Also, I have cover art for Desdaemona, though I can't show it to you yet. What I can do, I can point you at the pre-order page for Hidden Cities, so you-all can admire the art for that...

Comments

[badbookworm]

But you are the Bringer of Sossidge. From the cats' point of view, *nothing* is outside the scope of your amazing sossidge-producing power.

[desperance]

Yeah. I was trading on that, when I made the promise. I said, I am a most dishonest creature.

[badbookworm]

Never mind. They only have quite small brains, and are therefore unlikely to pick up on your wicked deception.