that weird time in between books

I am gestating what may turn out to be my next novel.  Or I may just have indigestion.  It’s very awkward.

Anyway, I just sent what I hope will be the final version of In the Red to my editor.  Or at least close to the final version…  My book contract is sitting on my desk waiting for me to decipher its legalese.  Then I will sign it and wait for my sweet, tasty advance.  I have been signing a shit-ton of papers lately because the husband and I just bought a condo.  This barely a few months after paying off the last of our student loans–I guess we felt bereft not being owned by some bank or other.  Now for the minor nightmare of American adulthood: the mortgage.

The condo comes with a bunch of pretty nice furniture because it was previously owned by a lone old lady who died in it.  So, we get her stuff.  I am essentially inheriting another iteration of Madame Brunet’s box in a much bigger version.  I am one favored by dead old ladies I never knew, apparently.  One of my new acquisitions is a player piano with scrolls!  Stay tuned for a ragtime housewarming party…


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