Have you ever had that week. Er, month? Er... season?
This is very familiar to me at the moment. Been there? We all have.
But you can't keep a last book down. Friends, this thing is huge, probably from all the confetti inside of it, and a long talk with my editor today tells me "Fairwil" is winging its way back to me at the end of this week.
In my hands. THIS WEEK.
If you can't wait, I can probably send you a super-secret SECRET pre-ARC in the middle of November. If you can, I'll send you the more burnished product closer to the end of the month. (I personally love more burnished.)
The hotel door, and my eyes, opened.
Gomery entered, followed by Fossy, whom he “here girl’d” onto a couch across the room. His watch lit up, and he bumped into a few corners, gave a few soft “ows,” collected his complimentary pajamas and headed for the bathroom. He was a more vocal tooth-brusher than I would have imagined, with some gargling action, but, unlike his cousin, he had the sense to keep his other private ablutions private.
Shutting off the bathroom light, he wandered the suite, taking stock of who was where. He walked into the other room, then headed back, pushed his cousin over, and crawled into the double bed with an “urf.”
The sound of his glasses clicking against the nightstand between us was, I realized, a sound particular to him, one he heard several times a day and never noticed. But I did, as did my urges, which had been, up until now, asnooze.
* gifs -- the great Miranda Hart
