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Pop Tarts for brekkie and no, I don’t feel one bit bad about it at ALL.

Of course the Prince’s cold would strike me on the Monday we’re heading back to work. Of COURSE. (Pass the tissues...)

Lord Boxnoggin has taken to bed to protest the arrival of winter.

Specifically, MY bed.

"There is a tendency to think that tragedy occurs in the middle of great and impressive action, but a fair number of tragic figures simply cannot manage the everyday details of basic human life..."

Religion, Christianity 

Here's a little guide to finishing strong and what to do if you didn't quite make it (or you made it but the novel still isn't, well, *finished*).

It's the very last day of NaNo. Whether you "finished" or not, you did well, and I'm proud of you.

(In other words, go forth and acquire shiny texts, because I can't buy them all though I really, REALLY want to...)

Palgrave's History of Magic & Witchcraft section is full of interesting things, and there's a sale going on:

“But of course this is only possible where journals, diaries, and sketchbooks survive.”

"Whoever is responsible for them, these etchings remain striking examples of the beauty of the work produced by the School of Fontainebleau..."

Described to me as "what if Aretha Franklin sang The Police." And utterly, hauntingly beautiful.

You know the ones, where it's just one thing after another, no time to take a breath, for longer than your nerves can take? Yeah. Like that.

5k on FINDER'S WATCHER. This book doesn't want to end. I have only a few days to devote to stabbing it, but it's looking like it might be one of those fights that last half the movie.

I mean, they never do go the way one expects, which is one way they're like real life. Possibly the only way, though.

3k on FINDER'S WATCHER today. That sex scene didn't go the way I thought it would. Huh.

"Patented in 1857, it comprised of a mechanism of vibrating diaphragm, lever and hog's bristle which scratched sound into soot-coated paper or glass."

(However, the little terrors I birthed left me no Greek honey yoghurt, so we're back at square one...)

The kids left me two slices of homemade challah for lunch, and if that ain’t love, well, like Judy Henske sings, it’ll do until the real thing comes along.

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Ragged Feathers

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