I had every intention of sitting down today and writing something profound. Then, every semblance of profundity fled my mind. Now I am left with the chilly knowledge that all I have to write about is the fact that my Jane Austen action figure has lost her torso. I imagine she was hacked in half by one of Seth Grahame-Smith's zombies.
The new novel is progressing quite slowly, though I like to think that's because it's still in the developmental, thinking stage at present. The old (meaning finished in February) novel is still in the peddling stage, and probably will be for some time. Hoping to get it sent out to a batch of agents sometime in the next couple of weeks.
So, nothing profound at this time, but I'm still getting used to this. I can't seem to figure out why my words keep getting broken in half at the ends of lines. In any case, it's a work in progress.
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