O, how I (ahem) love thee, Nameless One; let me count the ways

It's the un-namable month.

That time of the year.

Toxic air.

My lovely city: worst air in the nation. No, that's not a snow cloud.

Dirty, left-over snow.

Cheesy movies.

Sleezy underwear and barf colors in all the stores.

Death and sickness.




The good news:

Uh, let's see.

I'm writing. Yes, making progress on this book. At last. I mean, I don't dare go outside for fear I'll pass out from lack of oxygen, so might as well sit around with the lap-top, right?

And, ok, next week Megan Whalen Turner is braving the cloud and coming to the Life, the Universe, and Everything conference in Provo. I signed up for an LTUE pitch session with a New York Agent. Maybe I'll get the spot. Maybe not. First come, first pitch, and I signed up late. But still get to hear MW Turner impart her wisdom. Feeling cheerier already.

And oh, yeah (!): leaving the poisonous air for Newport, CA soon for my son's wedding. :) Apparently, even L.A.'s air isn't as bad as almost any air anywhere in my state.

Sunshine.

Joyfulness.

Celebration.

Sea breeze.




And then when we get back, February will be almost over. March winds blowing in, and none too soon. So long, hairy-scary-February. Maybe we will survive you unscathed.