When a show you like goes horribly, terribly wrong
*rubs face*
As you may remember, Gentle Reader, my beloved Ramón bought me the four-pack of Longmire seasons for Christmas this year, which gladdened my heart and inspired my writing thanks to a certain snarky Louisianan. So today, since it’s cold as Ann Coulter’s heart here in the clavicle of Texas, I settled in after work to finish season 3 of the series. Up to now I’d been enjoying it greatly, mainly due to the great dialog, interesting cases, and the fact that Robert Taylor takes his shirt off at least three times a season. The whole subplot about Walt’s dead wife and who really killed her was starting to wear a bit thin, but I knew that it was going to be resolved in the last ep (thank you, IMDb).
And then I got to said last episode. Now, I know A&E cancelled the series after the third season, whereupon it got picked up unexpectedly by Netflix, so maybe this had something to do with why the plot of this episode makes no damn sense whatsoever. First, Detective Fales’s characterization went straight out of the window; instead of being the crusading cop bent on taking the supposedly crooked sheriff down, he turns into, well, an asshole. He deliberately obfuscated evidence, had the original investigating officer somehow transferred to another division (yeah, no, that’s not how it works) and was going to make sure Henry got a life sentence for the murder of the meth head who killed Walt’s wife because … he felt like it, as far as I could tell. I dunno. That made no sense to me.
Secondly, Walt and Henry have to find evidence in the corpse of said dead meth head that will prove someone else killed him and exonerate Henry. So they traipse out to the graveyard in another jurisdiction, dig it up without any official permission, fast-talk some decidedly slow deputies into letting them take the body back to Absaroka County, and … once again, I’m not sure. Enter it as evidence? And when the Denver DA and Fales show up at Henry’s bar supposedly to take a statement from Henry, they’re presented with evidence of Fales’s deliberate fuckup and the proof in the dead meth head and given an offer — drop all charges against Henry and they won’t sue Denver PD for wrongful prosecution. The DA folds, and a fuming Fales rides into the distance as far as I can tell. Except that the FIRST thing the DA should have said was, “So where’s your permit to dig up this dead meth head? You don’t have one? Wait, you STOLE it from another county? So both of you have just committed a new crime. And Longmire, you’re forbidden from escorting Henry anywhere because you’re too close to the case — that’s breach of parole regulations. Also, have any of you heard about this thing called chain of custody? The judge is going to laugh this straight out of court.” So I may have had some problems with my suspension of disbelief here.
And then we turn our attention to the dysfunctional Connolly clan, where Branch, after being tormented by the White Warrior David Ridges and suspended from duty for generally acting like a psycho with a gun, decides to join the family business (whatever that is). Except that he digs into the company records and finds out that not only did his father pay Jacob Nighthorse $100K to funnel into Branch’s campaign for sheriff, but Barlow also paid Nighthorse $50K for “consulting services.” As it turns out, these consulting services were for David Ridges to head down to Denver, find a meth head to kill Walt’s wife (I can only assume to make Branch’s campaign easier), then kill the meth head to cover up the trail.
Yeah. Slightly baroque, almost Borgia-like in its complexity. But I could kinda maybe buy it, except that when Barlow comes to Branch’s house, he brings a box of business cards listing Branch as a company VP, saying that he had them printed six years ago. Throughout the show Barlow has been portrayed as a ruthless businessman devoted to building his company as his legacy and passing it along to his family. And yet he not only let his only son run off and work as a deputy, he secretly funded Branch’s campaign for sheriff, going so far as to pay a man to kill the wife of Branch’s competitor to make it easier for his son to win.
Yeah, no. Daddy Connolly never wanted Branch to be a cop in the first place; he wanted Branch securely working in the family business, and always seemed annoyed that Branch insisted on working as a deputy. What was far more likely would be him standing back, watching Branch run for sheriff and fail, then say, “Okay, son, you had your chance. Now how about you come work for me like you were supposed to.” But this? And then, after ALL that sturm und drang, for Barlow to announce “I don’t have time to make another fortune, but I still have time to make another son” and give the impression that he just shot Branch is just utterly irrational.
So I had a wee bit of a problem with the end of Season 3. Here’s hoping 4-6 are a little more sensible. In the meantime, I’m reading the Longmire books and enjoying the hell out of them. If you like solid mysteries set in the West with some drop-dead hilarious dialog, I highly recommend this book series.
Did someone remember to salt and burn 2016?
Gah, what a year. Okay, there were a few bright spots (I became an international bestseller thanks to the German translation of Trickster, hit Las Vegas, Toronto, San Antonio, Orlando, and Tampa on various trips, and managed not to die unlike so many others), but on the whole I’m glad it’s all over with.
So, first goal of 2017 — write 3K a day and get the first draft of Intersection knocked out by 1/10. I’m currently at 42,337 words, so hopefully I can stay on schedule and take the draft on the upcoming cruise with me to edit, with an eye to having it published by 1/31 in time for Wild Wicked Weekend. It helps that I already have the rough draft of the cover done and an editor is chomping at the bit for this puppy.
And yes, I’m editing on the cruise, because there is no such thing as a vacation day for an author. Oh, what larks that would be. Instead, we have guiltily stolen hours here and there where we peel ourselves out of our writing dens and totter out into the daystar, blinking and cowering.
Now, that being said, I will state that the time I’ve spent watching Seasons 1 and 2 of Longmire since Christmas are not stolen hours. Oh, no, my friends. They are research, I tell you, research into the golden smart-assed gloriousness that is Louis Herthum, may he win something nice for his marvelous work in Westworld. He did inspire Intersection‘s male lead, after all, and I like hearing his voice in my head when I write Ben so I need to watch him work for … motivational purposes. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
(Have I mentioned that I love my job? God, I love my job.)
But Longmire is also really damn good — I have no idea how I got the impression that it was some sort of grim post-modern Western. Oh, wait, yes I do — it was A&E’s crappy advertising. Arrgh. But it turns out to be this gorgeously shot and incredibly well-written police procedural that just happens to be set in a small Wyoming town. Also, I could watch Robert Taylor glower from under his cowboy hat all day long, but that’s another blog post. So I still have two more seasons on DVD, then I can finish off the fifth season on Netflix, then wait patiently for season six to start sometime this year.
Jesus. I’m actually watching TV again. Damn you and your charming performances, Louis!
#SexySnippets: Intersection
Sexy Snippets are seven sentences, taken from a work in progress, or published book, brought to you every Sunday. And now, allow me to present a tasty little scene from my SF cyborg romance Intersection (Pacifica Rising 1), out at the end of January 2017.
Ben smiled as he settled in between her thighs, tracing a finger along her dampness. “We did this back at the park, didn’t I?”
Evie nodded, too excited for words.
“Goddamn it. That’s one thing I really wanted to remember, too.” He leaned down to kiss the soft curls on her mound. “Suppose I’ll just have to make some new memories, then.”
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The ARe debacle and Evernight Publishing
By now I’m assuming that you’ve heard about All Romance eBooks closing and its extremely dodgy handling of Q4 royalties due to authors and publishers. I’m lucky in that I’m only out about ten bucks, but others have taken a significant financial hit and are wondering how they’ll be paying their bills in 2017. This sort of fiduciary behavior is not only sloppy but cruel to writers who depend on their royalties to survive, and I full support all writers and publishers who are currently investigating their legal options.
In the face of the ARe debacle, I also want to congratulate my publisher Evernight Publishing for demonstrating once again that they are an utterly professional company that stands by their authors. They have informed us that they plan on absorbing the royalty losses from ARe and will pay us, their authors, what we’re owed on ARe sales from Q4 despite the financial hit they’ll have to take on the deal. In this day and age of dubious financial dealing from publishers and distributors, Evernight demonstrates a standard that I really wish other publishing houses would adopt.
Support Evernight and buy books from their website direct! http://www.evernightpublishing.com/
Thank you, Carrie
The first thing I saw when I checked news today was Carrie Fisher’s death, and I wound up ugly crying for an hour. I know this sounds crazy, but I feel like I’ve lost an older sister. When I was growing up, the beauty standard was blonde and blue-eyed, Farrah Fawcett clones. For us mostly eastern European brunettes, yeah, sucks to be you.
And then came this short, brunette, brown-eyed smartass with buns on the sides of her head and a blaster who blew those California Girl tropes out of the water and made all the girls I knew want to be space princesses. My sister went as Princess Leia for Halloween one year. I didn’t think I was cool (or thin) enough to pull it off, otherwise I would have totally done it. She looked like my sister and me, she sounded like my dad and sister, and she was fucking awesome.
And then I got older and into the writing biz, and found out that Carrie Fisher was far more than a princess. She was a hella killer talented writer and script doctor. She became a face and voice for mental illness, showing every day that you could deal with unbalanced neurochemistry and still live life on your terms and be a witty, unapologetic genius while doing it. She had a wonderful service dog named Gary that went everywhere with her, and was loved by her family. She started out as a princess and became a general. She was a hilarious, broken, utterly human badass, and our world is poorer for her passing but richer because she had been here, dammit, and had the kindness and generosity to give us her words.
Thank you, Carrie.
Fabulous Friday Reads: Christmas With His Best Friend
Happy holidays, kittens! Let’s get ready for this Christmas weekend with Doris O’Connor’s new holiday romance, Christmas With His Best Friend, now available from Evernight and other online purveyors of fine romance. Go Doris!
Thank you so much for having me on your blog today with my new release, Christmas With His Best Friend.
This was one of those stories that practically wrote itself, once I started writing. I love the friends to lovers trope, myself, and I knew I would have to expand on the flash I wrote on my blog. This one to be precise.
Just imagine walking in on your best friend pleasuring himself to a picture of you? What would you do?
Emma has a whole set of conflicting emotions to deal with when this happens to her. Not least because she has been secretively fantasising about her best friend too.
Dare they take that leap into the unknown?
You’ll have to read the book to find out.
*smiles*
They’ve been friends for twenty years until … this Christmas.
How do you tell a sweet, naïve, and clearly vanilla girl that you like to tie women up and torture them for mutual enjoyment in your spare time? Josh Mackenzie has no idea, but when his best friend Emma walks in on him pleasuring himself, everything changes.
For Emma, coming face to face with her secret longings is mind-blowing. It’s one thing to fantasize about your best friend, but dare she take that leap into the unknown? Will it not ruin their friendship, and is—what would undoubtedly be awesome—sex worth risking that?
While Josh shares her fears, she is all he’s ever wanted in a woman, and he’s determined to show her that they can have it all. This woman is his to mark, cherish, and love forever, and he’ll prove it to her, one spank at a time.
Story Excerpt
Now that the moment was here Josh was lost for words. With his sweet little Em in his arms, her hazel eyes looking up him with so much trust … fuck it. What was he doing here? Instead of answering her, he pulled away, slid his hands in her hair and tucked at the pins holding it up. The dark blonde mass of silky curls fell in soft waves around her face, and he twirled one strand around his index finger.
“Josh? What are we doing here?” Her whispered question shot straight to his cock, and not trusting his voice to fucking work, he decided to show her instead. A soft gasp escaped her when he picked her up, set her on the kitchen counter, and pulling her legs apart stepped right between them. The action made her pencil skirt ride up, exposing the top of her stockings, and Josh groaned under his breath. He let his digits linger, half expecting her to slap them away, but when she opened her legs wider, he tore his gaze away from her pale flesh to check out her expression. Head down, she seemed mesmerized by the sight of his tanned hands against her skin, and the sweet scent of aroused woman filled his nostrils when he ran his hands slowly up her inner thighs. He could almost feel the heat of her cunt before her whisper stopped him.
“Josh?”
Leaving one of his hands where it was, he tipped her chin up with his index finger, satisfied beyond relief to see the same need he felt reflected back at him in her eyes. The hazel orbs had darkened to almost black, and when she licked her lips in a nervous gesture, his gaze followed the movements of her little pink tongue. Visions of her on her knees, with that sweet mouth wrapped around his dick, as he shot his jizz down her slender throat, made his cock jerk against the zipper of his jeans. He growled low in his throat at the thought of marking her thus, and her expressive eyes widened. Her breathing sped up even more, making her tits strain against the sensible blouse she wore for work. With the two top buttons undone, the third was threatening to give way under the rapid movement, giving him tantalizing glimpses of the soft swell of her breasts. Josh couldn’t help it. His self-control and good intentions went out of the window at her untutored responses to him, and he trailed his finger lower down the soft skin of her neck, over her collarbone and lower still, until he reached that tiny ivory button.
“I want you, little one.”
His voice dropped to the one he used in a scene without any conscious effort on his part, and when he flicked that button open, Emma’s sweet moan of surrender was music to his ears. Watching her closely for her reaction, he flicked the next button and so forth, until the sides of her blouse fell open, exposing her amazing rack. The lacy, mauve bra left little to the imagination. Josh continued his one fingered exploration, and they both groaned when he circled her nipples. Clearly visible through the lace, the little pink nubs hardened under his gentle ministrations, and Em’s breathing kicked up another notch.
“Please, I…”
Josh trailed his finger lower, over the soft swell of her abdomen, which caused her to suck in her belly, and he smiled at her action.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your curves, little one?”
Her surprised jerk and strangled half laugh told him he hadn’t, and Josh inwardly kicked himself.
“Since when? You have seen your girlfriends, right?”
There was a wealth of bitterness in those few words compounded by her hasty grab for her blouse. She pulled the ends closed and wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive move that tore at his heartstrings. The Dom in him wanted to order her to strip, to take her over his knee and paddle that luscious ass of hers for disrespecting her body shape like that, and making assumptions about him to boot, but he hadn’t earned that right yet.
So, instead of acting on that impulse, which pushed adrenaline through his veins, he did the next best thing. Stepped away, crossed his own arms over his chest and gave her his best don’t-talk-such-crap-subbie stare.
It didn’t take long before she caved in. Uncertainty crossed her features, followed by confusion, and when she dropped her gaze to his chest, he finally spoke.
“Let’s get one thing straight here, my sweet little Em, I do, indeed love your curves. In fact seeing you waltz out of here in those damn tight pencil skirts you wear for work has me so fucking hard I have to jerk off the minute you leave.”
Clearly startled by that revelation, Emma jerked her head up, opened her mouth to say something, but one look at his expression seemed to change her mind. The Dom in him almost roared when she dropped her gaze—to his chin this time—and kept it there. His girl was a natural, responding to him without even realizing what she was doing, and wasn’t that the biggest turn-on yet.
“Next, I don’t do girlfriends.” That brought her head up again, albeit briefly, and he smiled at her sharp intake of breath, and the confusion written all over her face. “I haven’t done for a long time, ever since I realized I was in love with my best friend.”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing | Amazon | Amazon UK | ARe | Bookstrand
About the Author
Doris is a writer of sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, Time Travel, Sci-fi, BDSM, F/F, M/M, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Happily married for the last twenty-five years, she lives with her husband and their brood of nine in a far too small house filled with love, laughter, and chaos.
Website | Reader Group | Tumblr | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Evernight Publishing
Amazon | All Romance eBooks | BookStrand | Barnes & Noble
A Christmas Sale!
Which has much less Darren McGavin than A Christmas Story, but bear with me. In the spirit of the year (and because all of us need a bit of a lift right now) I’m putting both Two Thrones books on sale for 99¢ until New Year’s Eve. So if you’re new to the joint kingdoms of Hellas and Ypres, this is the perfect chance to check them out.
Wicked Wednesday Reads: The Power of Peppermint
Whee, it’s Wednesday! And with the holidays closing in on us, it’s time to feature the lovely L.D. Blakeley and her brand spanking new holiday romance The Power of Peppermint, now available for the amazing sale price of 99¢ from Amazon and other online retailers of fine erotic romance. Enjoy!
The most wonderful time of the year?
When Jamison Pritchett is roped into replacing the mall photographer at Santa’s Village a week before Christmas, he’s certain he’ll be spending the holidays recovering from a nervous breakdown. A throng of sugar-frenzied kids might be enough to send this uptight photographer back into the darkroom permanently. Inappropriate thoughts about his far-too-attractive—and far-too-young—assistant aren’t helping fight that urge to hide, either.
For Noah Hawkins, adulting is a snap. Too bad relationships aren’t. With his business temporarily closed for repairs, he’s happy to help his sister out of a jam, even if the costume he’s given to wear borders on obscene. Constantly being mistaken for a teenager is no treat either, especially when he discovers his temporary new co-worker is sexy as hell and 15 years his senior.
Can Noah convince Jamison that age is just a number? Or will Jamison resist the gift Santa seems to be handing him on a platter?
Story Excerpt
“We’re closed,” he called out.
“I know,” a familiar voice answered. Noah.
With the studio’s front shades drawn, he hadn’t noticed the other man’s approach. As he neared the door, however, he could see Noah’s unmistakable silhouette.
He opened the door. “What are you doing here?” He studied Noah’s face, trying desperately to remain impervious to his charm.
“Figured we needed to talk.” Noah brushed past Jamison and closed the door behind him.
“About what?” He fought the urge that rose up and told him to run his fingers across Noah’s chiseled jaw. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your trip?”
“Jamison. You should know better than to eavesdrop.” Noah’s tone was teasing but kind. “Or, at the very least, make sure you eavesdrop on the entire conversation.”
“I’m sorry. I mean he’s your ex. And you and I haven’t…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his sentence.
“You and I might not have.” Noah pursed his lips and grinned around a half-eaten candy cane. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Travis is history. And I would imagine trolling the bars as we speak looking for someone willing to pay for his cruise.”
“Oh.” He would have been lying if he’d said he was sorry to hear it.
“So,” Noah drawled. “Just a kid, eh?” He leaned against Jamison’s desk, his lips wrapped invitingly around the minty candy.
Jamison felt himself flush. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. But let’s be real—you are significantly younger than me. And in that outfit they have you in, you barely look legal.”
“Good thing I am, then, isn’t it? It’d really suck for this—” Noah grabbed Jamison by the hips and devoured him in an absolutely soul-scorching kiss. “—to be something punishable by law, wouldn’t it?” he whispered against Jamison’s lips.
“I’m not so sure it shouldn’t be,” Jamison panted. The zing of mint from Noah’s kiss was electrifying. His heartbeat sped up as he watched the other man slowly slide the Christmas confection out of his mouth, tucking the dry end into his shirt pocket.
“Well if I’m going to be reprimanded, I’d better make it worth my while then.” Noah pulled him in for another kiss, his hands deftly untucking Jamison’s shirt. His hips rolled in a teasing rhythm against Jamison’s groin while he trailed his fingers southward.
Jamison was on fire. And when Noah reached for his belt, he sucked in a ragged breath.
“Wait—” He pulled back, lust and anxiety battling it out for control. “Someone could … the door.” He gestured toward the front of the studio.
Noah licked once more at his bottom lip, then sauntered over to the door and locked it. He double checked to make sure the blinds were completely shut.
“There. Now nobody will know we’re even here.” He headed back toward Jamison, his eyes full of promise.
“This is a bad idea. You know that, right?” Jamison was trying to convince himself more than anything. From the look on Noah’s face, he’d already made up his mind about what was going to happen.
And when Noah dropped to his knees with a dirty grin, Jamison knew too.
Where to Buy
Amazon | ARe | Smashwords
About the Author
L.D. Blakeley is a pragmatist with a romantic soul & a dirty mind. She loves horror movies, hot sex, and happily ever afters. She’s easily distracted by shiny things, and is a slightly neurotic, highly ambitious dreamer who enjoys dabbling in photography & pretending she can carry a tune.
In another life, L.D. was a newspaper reporter, an entertainment & music writer, travel writer, website content editor, and a marketing shill. Now she prefers to spend her time writing hot, steamy fiction (with a healthy dose of romance) about intriguing, sexy men. Although she dreams of living some place isolated with an endless supply of wine and an infinite number of titles on her eReader, she currently lives in downtown Toronto with her husband and their rock star cat.
Happy Friday, and a snippet from Intersection
Well, it’s the end of the work, and for most folks who observe Christmas the holidays will probably kick into high gear this weekend. Since the bulk of my decorating is now done, I thought I would celebrate with a teaser from Intersection. Some background: after finding out that her first love Ben Drake was still alive and being held at a Gold Rush-themed adventure park, Evie Contreras rescues him with the help of a mysterious organization that has been manipulating her academic and work career. Now held by them, she learns that cyborgs exist and Ben has been turned into one during his time at the park. She steals a security badge from one of the base officers to break into medbay and get the truth from Ben. Enjoy!
This time, the medbay doors opened obediently at her approach. Evie had been afraid that the base AI might stop her. Apparently her stolen RFID clip was enough to lull the AI into a sense of complacency.
Not after this, though. If Ballardie didn’t tell Lilith to check facial recognition against RFID codes from that point on, Evie would eat her tablet. She had one chance to see Ben, and she wasn’t about to waste it.
Pretend like you belong. That was easy enough; straight spine, a slightly bored but alert expression. She grabbed a pile of sheets from a pile on a small cart and carried them as a prop. The hallway ended at a round station manned by a very handsome, very bored man in red scrubs. His curly black hair had been cut short, and he needed a shave judging by the heavy five o’clock shadow, but his celadon eyes lit up when he saw her.
“Hel-lo,” he said in a drawled accent. “Did someone finally hear my plea for more help?”
“That’s what I was told,” Evie said brightly. “I’m Ally. Where do you need me?”
“Oh, my.” The man gave her a slow up and down that was lascivious and amusing at the same time. “Don’t ask me questions like that, love. I’m still on call for two more hours.”
She snorted, glancing at the ancient whiteboard propped up on the station’s counter. It had to be a list of patient rooms. “I bet you say that to all the new volunteers.”
“Only the ones who’ve stolen my heart.” He plunked his hand over his breastbone. “Promise me I’ll see you later, Ally. It may be the only thing that gets me through this deathly dull shift.”
She allowed herself a brief, amused grin. This one was a charmer, which made things easier and harder at the same time. Easier because he’d let her slide past. Harder because he’d definitely check out her ass as she walked away. “No promises…”
“Samir. Dr. Samir Haddad.” Something on his console beeped and he grimaced. “Oh, damn. Duty calls, love. I’ll catch you later?”
“You can try.” She turned and walked around the station, resisting the urge to hurry.
The station sat at the crosspoint of four corridors like a bull’s eye. Luck and left-to-right reading habits were with her and B corridor was opposite the one from the entrance. She headed down there, counting rooms until she came to B4.
The board had Drake, B printed neatly next to the B4 slot. Licking dry lips, she grabbed the door handle. The worst they would do was kick her out, maybe yell at her for boosting Rob’s RFID wand. She’d take that and much worse to be able to talk to Ben, her Ben, not some tarted up artificial persona that someone had programmed onto a chip.
She opened the door, ready to smile.
And stopped.
Her first thought was that she’d gotten the rooms mixed up somehow. Because the thing on the bed, it looked like Ben, yes, but it was missing both arms and everything from the middle of its chest on down. The holes in the body had been sealed neatly with glistening gelatinous caps, and a variety of tubes and wires ran from them to a mix of equipment arranged around the bed. Some of the tech she recognized from her own work, equipment regularly used in cybertech. The rest looked more like it belonged in a hospital room, with a person.
Not here. Not with this … mockery.
He really was an android, something in the back of her mind whispered. They lied to you, they all lied to you—
The Ben-thing opened its eyes. And looked at her with the most hesitant, heartbreaking smile. “Evie?”
She shook her head. Why was it lying to her? Why did it have to use Ben’s voice?
It glanced down, craning its neck. Blue eyes went wide, filling with horror. “No. Oh, God, no!”
She choked back a sob, shaking her head.
He looked up. Color flooded his face, making his eyes seem to glow as he stared at her. And then the horror disappeared, replaced by incandescent fury. “Get out!” he shouted, raising his head off the bed far enough to jostle some of the wires and tubes. Somewhere an alarm began to bleep. “Goddamn you, Evie, get out! Don’t look at me!”
She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see any of this. Screwing her eyes shut, she fumbled for the door handle behind her.
“Get out!”
There it was. She stepped backwards, away from the impossibility on the bed. Away from the last, final hope she’d allowed herself to have.
She backed into someone. Turning, she looked up into Samir’s now-grim face.
He grabbed her arm, his grip not ungentle but impossible to escape. “I think we need to have a chat,” he drawled. “Don’t you agree, Ally?”
So, it’s cold here in the clavicle of Texas
Yes, I know that people in the northern parts of the United States, not to mention other parts of the world that enjoy a uncomfortable closeness to the Arctic and Antarctic Circles, are laughing their asses off at me right now.
But damn, it’s cold here. 36°F/2.2°C at the moment, and dropping to 28°F/-2.2°C overnight. My cold acclimatization is gone, people. 16 years of living here has given me the ability to tolerate high temps (with proper hydration and support), but it drops below 50°F (10°C for those of you playing along everywhere else in the world) and Nic turns into a shivering popsicle in search of warm clothing and cats to sit on her feet and keep them toasty because I’m wearing socks AND slippers at the moment and they’re still chilly.
I even brought my beautiful hand-crocheted thick triangle shawl out so that I could wear it while writing. The damn cats annexed it, and now insist that it remain piled on the short bookshelf at left so that they can snooze on it while I work. Since it keeps them busy so that I can work I’m reluctant to reclaim it, but damn, I have a space heater in here with both cat beds snugged alongside it. Must they claim my shawl as well?
But there is a bright side to today, namely that the full soundtrack to Westworld was released on iTunes, which means I have all of that lovely evocative music to listen to while working on Intersection. Assuming I can feel my fingers. Did I mention it was cold here?
Nicola Cameron Writes 