It’s a new day. Weelll. . . it’s a lot like yesterday.
I’m still unpublished, still sick, and still away from home. But.
It IS the beginning of a new twittertale, and it’s the first day of Spring.
From the first time I read this item on SteffMetal.com’s list of awesomeness, I planned to celebrate the first of September. Partly because I always do.
Here’s how: I wake up with a smile on my face thinking, “This is it! Spring is here! No more Winter for nine months!” Then I wear something utterly Summery – no sleeves, and often no shoes. Then the weather abruptly turns from pleasant late-Winter sunshine to howling winds, rain, and blanket clouds. Then I get consumption.*
Sure enough, the ritual wearing of the short sleeves caused the ritual darkening of the skies. I had a feeling Melbourne would come through for me:
But I never mind the shivering and consumption. I think of it as Winter’s death rattle, and laugh like a warrior who’s just stabbed a foe and is watching them cuss as they bleed out.
It’s a special happy feeling.
Today I planned to get up at 7:30 for more sessions of watching other authors talk about their books (one of which I hadn’t read, and one of which had a character slightly more passive than Bella, believe it or not). I decided to give myself another shot at getting over this cold, and switched my alarm off when I first woke up. In the end, I slept for over twelve hours – so it looks like I made the right call.
Tomorrow will be my last day at the Melbourne Writers’ Festival. Friday I’m resting, and mooching with Celia. Saturday I’ll start the day in Melbourne, go to Brisbane, and end up in Sydney. It’ll be a long and insane day. The most exciting part will happen at 10am, when I’m pitching “Monster Apprentice” to a publisher. The book is in very good shape, so I’m confident they’ll be open to seeing more of my work.
And here’s a rather disturbing picture from the fascinating blog nextnature.net (this cat has an option of also being a hoover. Seriously!) Remember, robot cats are coming to YOUR home. . . soon.
*Well, that bit’s not 100% guaranteed. Not every year, anyway.