This is so embarassing to admit, but I am writing a novel this month. I know, I have no time, I have no energy, I can hardly get dressed some days, yet I am finding it necessary to write a novel. But, friends, it is not just any novel. It;s the thing that has been percolating in my pickled brain for months. Here's a little teeny inkling what it's about: a Victorian Protestant Ascendancy oldest sister named Bauxie, who grew up with Constance Markiewicz and Eva Gore-Booth and Jack and WB Yeats, and some time travel, and some spiritualism and some sorrow. And some black cats.
50,000 words are needed, and I have almost 3000. There is always time to write. And draw elaborate family trees. Even though the laundry isn't done.
