Alive …

tallow… still alive, but I’ve been banging my head against deadlines.

On the upside, I’ve met all the ones I needed to for other people, so now I can start on the ones I’ve set for myself (i.e. final novel edit on Vigil, the next of the Tallow-Wife stories, addressing the editorial report on Narrow Daylight for Xoum, a super-sekrit project with Ticonderoga, and y’know, Christmas and all it entails).

Here’s another snippet from a Tallow-Wife tale … it’s a bit fainting couch-worthy and will need an edit, but I love bits of it.

“Cordelia’s gaze goes immediately to Bethany, but the crash and shatter of the second dessert tray demands her attention. Merry has dropped the thing, the meringue and cream and fruit compote spread far and wide across the expensive silk carpet. The girl holds both hands to her mouth, her face drained of all blood, and Cordelia thinks, foolishly, that she is quite lovely when she’s not scowling. Merry’s eyes are huge, the pupil so large there is almost no white left around the pale blue iris. Before Cordelia can rise and go to her, the girl flees, her sobs trailing behind her like black mourning ribbons.”

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