Plug!

[desperance]

Such a wonderful word, plug. And so apt. All my life, one way or another, plugs have been a feature. No one ever warned me as a child, not to run with scissors; I used to like playing with electricity. Fitting plugs. I once wired an entire cottage, lights and power, from a single 13-amp plug next door. That was probably quite naughty.

These days, this office, I run (at the last count) fourteen plugged devices from a single socket. That's probably quite naughty too.

And then there's American plugs. I'm saying nothing.

Bath-plugs, though, bath-plugs are a joy; they hold the water in. And plugs as stop-gap measures, literal and metaphorical, lead on to that sense that all my life I've just been plugging leaks, trying to hold back the flood. One damn thing after another. Yay plugs.

And then - oh, I dunno, why has promotional activity become known as plugging? There must be a reason, but it seems to be eluding me. I'm probably being thick. But I remind myself: not only can you come to the launch of Desdaemona tonight, or else order it from your local bricks-and-mortar store or e-store of your choice; not only can you buy the Daniel Fox trilogy instead, if your taste runs more to epic fantasy than urban; but also - if your taste runs more to urban fantasy than epic - you can now buy the e-dition of Light Errant, direct from Book View Cafe... [And it has the world's loveliest cover ever, being a photo by mizkit, with design by shewhomust...]