Monday Check-In: The Final One

So after feeling like a slacker last week and posting a Friday blog about how slacky I was, I promptly sat down and added 2k to Pale Queen that night, thus feeling much less slacky. Huzzahs! Apart from that the weekend was writing-lite. I added another 600 words to Pale Queen yesterday evening, but lost most of Sunday to watching Batman v Superman and Suicide Squad, and then ranting about how I would have improved Suicide Squad to Kyle for hours. I might blog about that. I've got a lot of Feelings, idk.

I can't even remember what I did on Saturday apart from prep and ship perfume orders, which worries me slightly.

Oh! I lie - I went to the theatre with my BFF to see Lady Chatterley's Lover! I don't know how I forgot that as there was a good meal involved, and also a hell of a lot of nudity (on the part of the actors).

Anyway! Plans for this week on the writing front: pick up the pace, basically. I'm happy with the progress I'm making on Pale Queen and Through Fire, but would really like to be further along with both before I go away next Wednesday. I'm also still waiting for edits on THROWN TO THE WOLVES, which, probably, will come through while I'm in Morocco knowing my luck. That doesn't matter, as there's a two-week turn around for first round edits with Evernight, but I always like to get them done well before the deadline if I can. In among all this, I have to prepare for going on holiday, by which I mean I have to prepare my boss for me going on holiday, because as of last week she'd forgotten I was going on holiday. When I got back from Iceland, I had many emails from her along the lines of "thank god you're back, I barely coped, also my luggage is in Atlanta." Hopefully this time while I'm away, she won't have that problem.

Anyway! That's pretty much that. See you Wednesday for a snippet!

"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to."

So! London happened! On Friday Kyle went down (or up, I guess?) for the London tattoo convention, and on Saturday I headed in, having apologised profusely to Yuki for leaving her (she has abandonment issues). We went into Camden for a good old poke around the market, and I was reminded that I hate Cyberdog and everything associated with it. For those who don't know, Cyberdog is a clothing brand, and their Camden shop is basically a rave where you can buy glow-in-the-dark everything and I hate it. It's hot, they play fucking awful rave music, and I hate it. Kyle loves it, so we always visit when we go to Camden, but it's my least favourite part of visiting.

Anyway! We didn't spend long there in any case, and there's so much else to look at in Camden that I don't really mind visiting too much. And actually, our main mission was to find somewhere to eat before the Scandal gig, so once Kyle had bought a glow-in-the-dark t-shirt, we headed off to scout the local restaurants. We ended up at a grill called Q, having been lured in by the promise of sweet tea and whiskey cocktails.

Cheers!

The food was amazing - the kind of soul food you know is contributing to your eventual heart problems, but is just too good to say no to anyway. I had fried chicken with cornbread waffles and maple butter, and Kyle went for buttermilk chicken with sweet potatoes, and oh my god, I wish I was eating it all again right now.

Heroic amounts of carbs were consumed.

Adequately fuelled for the gig, we headed to Islington, planning to find a pub near the venue and kill some time before the doors opened at 7pm. We got to Islington about 5pm, walked past the O2 Academy and saw the queue was already stretching around the block, so figured we'd better join in. As it turns out, because Kyle has an O2 phone for work, we were allowed to jump the queue a bit, so that's worth knowing if you're going there for a concert, I guess!

I had no idea what to expect from the concert crowd. Scandal are a Japanese band (I hesitate to say girl band, because they're all in their late twenties), and I guess I'd made some assumptions about what sort of fans they might have. Some of those assumptions were correct (there were a lot of single men there, just standing at the back of the hall, staring at the stage, not dancing or interacting with anyone), but by and large, there was a really good vibe.

This was somewhat marred by the merchandise vendor who tried to sell me wrist bands I didn't want, and who then asked Kyle why he was letting a woman make financial decisions in a "haha, but I'm not really joking" kind of way. I didn't quite make a scene, but we both made it clear we weren't amused and I really hope he didn't subject every woman he tried to force wrist bands on to the same treatment.

Inside the venue, we were pounced on by a random girl who ran up to us and yelled, "you live in Milton, don't you?" then proclaimed she recognised Kyle's beard and my hair, and that she had seen us walking to Tescos, which...was weird? But she was nice, and it turns out we did vaguely know her boyfriend, so I managed to master my anxiety over strangers running up to me and acting like we're friends.

The gig itself was great - I didn't really know the music, but it was easy to get into and the band were really fun.

 

Afterwards, with our new friends in tow, we headed back to Cambridge prepared to be soundly told off by Yuki for going out without her.

She couldn't decide whether she was sad about being alone or delighted we were home, and settled for just spying on us for the rest of the night and all day Sunday to make sure we didn't do it again.

My plan for Sunday was really to just chill out and finish writing Thrown to the Wolves, and hopefully submit it. Instead I just chilled out and lazed around on the sofa all day with a terrible head cold. I'm slightly annoyed with myself for not getting on with it, but to be honest, I think I probably made the right choice, as I don't think I would have been producing my best work in any case. This does mean I'm now unlikely to get Blood Canticles 3 started this month, but since the only person I have to answer to as far as deadlines go is me, I've decided to be lenient with myself. Maybe I haven't been as productive as I was last year writing-wise, but I haven't exactly slacked off either, and I probably need to remind myself that two novels and two novellas, with another one nearly in the bag and two re-published works under my belt for the year is nothing to be sniffed at. And in my defence, I was still pretty full of fried chicken and cornbread waffles.

So the plan for this week is now the same as it was last week - finish and submit Thrown to the Wolves. Since I have almost finished writing it, this is a pretty doable goal. I say that confidently, like I haven't been saying it for two weeks now...but this time I mean it! Watch this space.

Wednesday Snippet - Thrown To The Wolves

You know, I don't think I've actually said that the short werewolfy romance I'm working on at the moment is called Thrown To The Wolves. But it is, so there we go. I'm aiming to have it wrapped up and submitted this week, and by my reckoning I'm about 4k away from that goal, which is very doable, even allowing for the fact that I'm out Friday night and in London on Saturday. That's two social occasions in a row, which for me is pretty bold. We're going to see Scandal at the O2 Academy on Saturday night, which should be loads of fun. If all goes according to plan, I'll have Thrown To The Wolves ready to submit on Sunday, then I can spend the rest of the day sessioning Lucha Underground and mentally plotting Blood Canticles 3 some more.

Anyway! Enough talk. Here's a snippet from Thrown To The Wolves.

Your Adventure Ends Here

I'm not quite sure where I picked up my first Fighting Fantasy book. Possibly my older brother had some. My school library definitely had some, but I think I found those once I was already fully hooked. Second-hand bookshops around Cambridge often had them too, but again, I hunted those down after becoming addicted. Either way, all I know is that some time in my early teens, I discovered Fighting Fantasy game books and my life was changed forever.

At the time I was pretty much exclusively reading all the high fantasy I could get my hands on, so the idea of a book full of fantasy elements (dungeons! Warlocks! Dragons!) wherein I could be the star was just a magical thing. I didn't know anything about role playing and I definitely didn't bother with the whole "roll the dice and track your stats" elements of the books, but I played wholeheartedly nonetheless. I fought ice witches and warlocks on Firetop Mountain. I battled the armies of the undead. I explored the island of the lizard king. I died many times.

Many, many times. But always I found victory eventually. Whether it was by having the right magical dagger or knowing the answer to the gryphon's riddle, whether it was facing down giant scorpions or Satanic priests, I always triumphed in the end.

Well, almost always. One book defeated me. I played it solo, I played it with a friend, I played it as a teen and in my twenties, I went through two copies, and I still never conquered...

The Creature of Havoc.

This book is hard, you guys. You play said creature, working to find out why you became a creature and avenge yourself, or transform yourself back maybe. I don't remember. Maybe both. I don't know because I never fucking completed it because it's super fucking hard and I died all the fucking time. I died in a furnace. I died of poison. I died of being cut open by a witch. I ate my best friend and then wandered back into the furnace and died again. I died everywhere, in every way possible, and no matter how often I replayed and (yes) cheated, I never beat the book.

I feel like this is something I should be over at age 33, but I'm not. I hadn't thought about this book in years until Amazon recommended me a Fighting Fantasy adult colouring book (which I am absolutely buying, thanks Amazon), and then all the old bitterness and trauma came flooding back. And it turns out second-hand copies of Creature of Havoc are really cheap, so I determined to conquer the unconquerable.

After all, it's been a good eight or so years since my last attempt. I've grown as a person. I've played DnD. I'm no longer liable to throw the book across the room in a screaming fit if I get stuck in the furnace again. I can do this. I owe it to myself, and my beloved adventuring companion, Skelly* to do this.

I will do this. I will defeat the Creature of Havoc.

Or...not, because I will be the creature. Anyway. It's definitely going to happen this time. I've got a good feeling about it.

*I didn't kill Skelly. She's not the best friend referred to above. She's fine, okay? She's fine.

Barb V Nancy: Why not both?

***Contains spoilers for Stranger Things!***

So like most of the world (it feels), I watched Stranger Things when it launched in July and I loved it. I love the 80s vibe, I love the story, the characters, the themes, the potential future plot threads...Everything. I've loved the fan theories about the show and I was really excited when season two was confirmed earlier this week. I can't wait to see where the story goes next, and what the fallout from season one will be for everyone. I'm not a huge TV watcher, so for something to really capture my imagination like this is a big deal for me. I get invested and excited and passionate, and I want to seek out opinions and information and theories and just really immerse myself in it all.

And I've done that with Stranger Things, and in doing so found something that irked me at first. And the more I've thought about it, the more it's gone from being irksome to aggravating.

It's Barb and Nancy.

So, let's start with who Barb and Nancy are. Nancy is the older sister of Mike Wheeler (one of the show's key protagonists). She's shown to be a serious student entering that weird liminal teenage stage where boys are kinda interesting, brothers are kinda annoying, and parents are kinda restrictive. Barb is her best friend, the quintessentially bookish, awkward kid who maybe isn't developing the same way Nancy is, and is starting to sense a strain in their friendship because of it. They're both well-drawn, relatable characters. And they are friends. Best friends, who share secrets and look out for each other - not always in the best way, but hey, they're teenagers. If you never made a bad decision as a teenager, please applaud yourself now. Maybe they wouldn't be best friends forever in real life, but in the confined space of this TV series, they are.

So why are memes like this everywhere?

Huh? What's up with that, apart from the misplaced apostrophe? What's wrong with Nancy? What did Nancy do to deserve to end up as the default "bad one" in that pairing?

Well, let's see where Barb and Nancy go from the status quo they start out in as Stranger Things begins.

Nancy is being courted by Steve Harrington. On the surface he's the stereotypical bad boy: arrogant, bullish, and only interested in getting into Nancy's pants. He's popular, cool, attractive, etc, etc. You know this guy. He's every new adult/young adult hero ever. Barb worries that Nancy's tentative relationship with Steve will threaten their friendship, and (in my opinion) she worries that Steve will hurt Nancy. So there's tension there, not helped by the fact that Nancy is definitely receptive to Steve.

I get that. I was a Barb at school - bookish, awkward, introverted, and with a tendency to compensate for what I saw as my personality faults by being outlandish and weird in social situations. I fiercely prized my friendships because I didn't have many, and I was hurt when they fell apart. I so get Barb.

In episode two, Nancy and Barb go to a party at Steve's, where the rift between them (caused by Barb's discomfort and Nancy's failure to understand it, among other things) is obvious. It's clear Nancy and Steve are headed for sexy times, and it's clear Barb hates this, and I could write a million words on why I think that is, but the bottom line is this: Barb is uncomfortable and Nancy tells her to go home.

Barb doesn't. Barb sits by Steve's pool, probably worrying about Nancy and the fact that they've lied about where they are that night, and possibly wondering what's wrong with her that Nancy prefers Steve and his douchey friends to her all of a sudden. (I was Barb. I'm pretty sure this is what she was thinking, and Barb, there was nothing wrong with you).

Anyway. Barb then gets dragged into a parallel dimension by a hideous monster. This is where Barb and I diverge.

And you know what? Once Nancy realises Barb is gone, she devotes every ounce of herself to finding her friend. She puts that fledgling relationship with Steve aside, teams up with potential-stalker Jonathan Byers, and she gets shit done. She pieces together clues nobody else found. She finds Barb's abandoned car. She gets out in the monster-infested woods and looks for Barb. She follows a trail of blood through a portal in a tree and finds herself in another dimension. She escapes a monster. She heroes up, kits herself out with a ton of army surplus gear and resolves to go kill that monster.

My friendships were important to me, but I don't think I would have taken on an actual monster over any of them.

Nancy did. Nancy's great. So where is the Barb V Nancy dynamic coming from? Is Nancy getting hate because she has a boyfriend and has sex with him? For prioritising that first sexual encounter over her friend's comfort levels? Sure, that wasn't the most thoughtful moment of her life, but again...if you never made a thoughtless choice as a teenager, applaud yourself now.

Maybe it's just that more people watching saw themselves in Barb than in Nancy. And I get that - representation is important and people want to see themselves in our media. But you can relate to Character A without throwing Character B under the bus, and I think you should definitely not be pitting Characters A and B against each other if they're both girls. You know what memes I'm not seeing? "In a world full of Steves/Jonathans, be a Jonathan/Steve." Because men aren't pitted against each other in quite the same way that women are. They just aren't. You might be asked to pick between Captain American and Iron Man, but it's not going to be worded in such a way that you feel bad about your choice. In Civil War, Steve and Tony were presented as ideologically at odds, but neither was presented as The Bad Pick. Fan wars will rage forever over whether you should be Team Cap or Team Stark, but Nancy and Barb? That's boiled down to this:

Nancy is a slut because she has a boyfriend and Barb is superior because she doesn't? I don't know. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but that's what it seems to boil down to. And the fact that Nancy searches desperately for her friend, and puts her life on the line, is ignored because it's more fun to make girls fight than have them fight for each other. That's tiresome.

We can have both, you know. We can have girls on TV who are bookish and still finding themselves, and we can have girls who are ready for boyfriends and sex. We can have bookish girls who are ready for sex, even. We can have girls who are introspective and would really rather not go to the stupid fucking party, and girls who are social butterflies and want to get out there. We can have girls who are serious students and can swing a mean baseball bat when required. We can have girls who support each other even when they disagree with each other. We can have Barbs and Nancys, and both are valid and both are fine, and what we really need in a world full of Barbs and Nancys is for people to appreciate both the Barbs and the Nancys.

Apocalypse Ready?

The universe is huge. 400 million stars are born every day. Thirty-three light years from us right now, there is an exoplanet covered in burning ice. There's a giant cloud of alcohol in Sagittarius B. There's a hell of a lot going on out there, and if I believed in gods, I'd definitely believe they have way too much to think about with all that to worry about me. And yet it's hard not to suspect you might be the butt of a cosmic joke occasionally.

I decided back in April/May to take up running in an effort to deal with a few things. Firstly was my general health - I'm in a very sedentary job, I love food, and I have a fiance who's an amazing cook. Secondly was my body image, which has been poor all my life, but has dipped down to pretty unhappy lows over the past few years. I spent most of my twenties working on not being an anxiety-ridden wreck, and I've mostly succeeded, but some things stick around. The third thing was my doctor re-diagnosing me with exercise-induced asthma. I say "re-diagnosed," because I was diagnosed as a child, but didn't get much support from the people who needed to support me (school PE teachers) and I grew up believing I was just lazy and unfit, and that asthma didn't play a part in that.

But my GP said otherwise, and then he said I needed to go do regular exercise so he could properly measure my lung capacity and figure out what dosage of corticosteroids I need. Ugh. Anyway, I dutifully bought a home stepper machine and got to it. Turns out stepper machines are deadly boring, so I decided to give running a crack. It would be a stretch to say I enjoyed my first attempt, but I was proud I did it without dying, so I went out again the next week. And got shin splints.

If you've never had shin splints, they're not like...life-ruining or anything, but they are really, really painful and you definitely can't run while you're recovering. In fact, even walking was tricky at first. I just had to lay on the sofa taking anti-inflammatories for a couple of days and try to avoid stairs, or high heels, or moving. But I needed to keep up the exercise regime, so I started going swimming a couple of times a week in addition using the stepper.

And the swimming aggravates my rotator cuff syndrome. Basically, the ball-and-socket joints in my shoulders get inflamed, and whilst this is manageable, it's also painful, and it triggers other problems in my arms, wrists, and hands. It doesn't really take much to trigger an episode. Carrying a heavy bag, cold weather, sleeping on the wrong side, thinking "wow, it's been a while since my last episode!"...That would be fine, if I could just stop doing EVERYTHING while the problem passes, but since I can't take a month off work and sit quietly not using my arms every time it happens, I have to just take anti-inflammatories, do my physio exercises, and carry on.

So running was out, swimming is not ideal, and the stepper is boring. And over the past nine days, I wrote a 21k short story, and that was a really bad idea because hammering away at a keyboard for days on end in the day job and at home does not help settle the rotator cuff flare-up, but apparently I don't learn lessons. The universe is laughing at me. The universe does not want me to be healthy. The universe wants me to be chowing down painkillers and knowing my place on the sofa.

To which I can really only say, "no, YOU fuck off, Universe." Because I am making progress. I can run again now, which is great because I did weirdly miss it over the past few weeks. I mean, I've made a running playlist on Spotify. I only make playlists for things I'm really committed to. I've got the Zombies, Run app, and it makes the experience actually kinda fun. I went out on Saturday for a run round Milton Country Park and accidentally got swept up in a 2k race. I managed to extricate myself eventually, but I still got congratulated for my great effort by one of the stewards on my way out, so I feel pretty smug about that.

Note to self, avoid the Country Park on Saturday mornings.

Anyway, yes, I am making progress. I've lost a bit of weight and I don't wheeze and choke going up the stairs with the laundry basket much anymore. That's pretty cool. I don't think I could outrun a zombie yet, but I could probably outrun an old lady running from a zombie. Unless it was one of the old ladies I saw doing the 2k on Saturday. They were all pretty hardcore. Either way, it's encouraging after so many years to feel like my body isn't the enemy.

I'm viewing myself as a second draft right now. The basics are all there and they mostly do what they're supposed to, but it can be improved upon. If you consider that 90% of your body is stardust, that's some pretty good material to work with even if the Universe does occasionally laugh at you.

Battle of the Grotesque Bulge

When we last left our valiant hero, Sir Remic of Littlebrain, he was being left at the vet's for x-rays and ultrasounds to investigate the Grotesque Bulge that sprang up, seemingly overnight. That was Monday. On Tuesday, Remic (or "Sweetie Pie" as the vet called him), had his x-rays, which were fairly inconclusive. There is definitely a bulge and it's probably attached to his pancreas, was the verdict when I spoke to the vet.

So the next step was surgery on Wednesday, so the vet could see what the bulge was attached to, figure out what it was, and remove it. I can't deny, this turned my stomach a bit. Not because I didn't want him to have the surgery, but because I was scared he might not come round from it. Anesthetics can do weird things to snakes, things to do with temperature, metabolism, and breathing, which is, you know, sort of important.

But I obviously wanted him treated and I trust experts when they tell me their expert opinion, so of course, Rem had the surgery. That happened yesterday afternoon, and when I spoke to the nurse around 5pm yesterday, she said Rem was coming round and seemed fine. Huzzahs! The lump was removed, Sweetie Pie was stitched up, and I could come and collect him as soon as I was ready.

Unfortunately, for various reasons, I couldn't collect him yesterday, so he got to spend another day at the vet's. I went straight from work today (thank you, my darling Pip, for being my taxi), all ready to put Rem back in his glamourous duvet cover/washing basket combo, and take him home. Of course, it doesn't work quite like that.

First I spent some time with the nurse, hearing how Rem was doing ("he's a bit tetchy") and what his aftercare will be. He needs to go back in a week to have his stitches checked, and he needs to be in an environment where he can't damage the stitches in the meantime - no abrasive materials for him to rub against, no water bowl big enough for him to soak himself in. That's fine.

He also needs daily injections of antibiotics for a few days. "Are you happy to inject him?" the nurse asked. I regarded Remic, his head stuck under a towel in the vet's reptile carrier, oblivious to the world. "Sure," I said. So we had a practice at that. I've never injected anyone with anything before, and whilst I'm not squeamish, I am always really paranoid about hurting an animal when giving them medicine. A snake is a pretty tricky proposition, because they're a lot stronger and faster than you expect. Rem is an even trickier proposition because "tetchy" is his default mood.

Still! Never one to shy away from a new experience, I went for it. The nurse held his head and lower body, and I slid the needle under a scale to inject the meds. It's easier than it sounds, and it only took a few seconds. Rem flinched, but then seemed to immediately forget it had happened, which bodes well for the next few days. Huzzahs!

Then it was back in the duvet for the trip home.

And here he is, in what I'm thinking of as his recovery viv. We've taken out everything that might possibly damage the stitches, which was everything. Basically all the ornaments in his tank are designed to help with shedding, so nothing was suitable to leave in. He now has a bed sheet, a cereal box, and a smooth water bowl. He's supposed to be resting, but instead he's trying to figure out how to undo the snake lock, which has been his singular goal in life for as long as we've had him.

He is enjoying the cereal box, however. Which is good, because I don't know when the stitches will come out. When we take him back for his check-up in a week, we'll get to see the vet who operated on him, and hopefully then we'll learn a bit more about what the Bulge was and if it's likely to come back.

Meanwhile, Kyle and I get to take turns injecting Sweetie Pie with antibiotics while Ket looks on smugly. Fingers crossed for a full recovery for Sir Remic!

The Most Monday-ish Monday that Ever Mondayed

We had a plan for today. Kyle was due to go into hospital for back surgery this morning. I'd booked the day off work to accompany him for moral support and possibly to film him talking gibberish when he came round from the general anesthetic, and to make sure he got home in one piece.

And then the surgery was cancelled, because the surgeon has an eye infection. And I guess, yes, you don't want a visually-impaired surgeon messing around with your spine. So that happened. And I figured I may as well go to work and take back my day of annual leave, and use it later in the month when the surgery actually happens.

And then, whilst casually passing the snake tanks, I saw Remic. This is not unusual. What was unusual was the huge distended lump in the middle of my very slim and elegant idiot. I am 95% positive that was not there last time I looked. Panic ensued.

We were pretty sure it wasn't a gut issue, because he hadn't been fed for a while (in fact, today was supposed to be feeding day). Sometimes when a snake is constipated, you can deal with it yourself by bathing him in warm water, changing the temperature of his environment, or even just handling him yourself. But, like I say, given his feeding schedule, we thought this probably wasn't food-related. Luckily there is a vet in Cambridge that specialises in exotic pets, so I gave them a call, and after a few misunderstandings (I was very nearly registered as Naomi Quark, and Remic as Bulwick), we got an appointment.

An appointment hours and hours away, since I discovered the Grotesque Bulge around 11.30, and the appointment was at 5.15. That's a really long time to have to just hang around and worry about your pet. We were slightly mollified by the fact that Remic didn't seem to notice he had a Grotesque Bulge, but then Remic once bit himself in the tail, so...you know. He's not smart.

He would struggle to qualify as simple

Anyway, since we had no choice but to wait, we waited. I'd have to take him by myself, as Kyle was working from home, and I'd have to take a taxi. That was fine; the taxi company assured me they were happy to transport a snake. The question was, how was I going to transport a snake?

The answer is: in a duvet cover, in a washing basket. Let me say now that getting Remic into a duvet cover ranks up there as one of the most stressful things I've ever done, and I've worked with academics for nine years. He didn't want to go in the duvet cover. He wanted to go in my perfume drawer. This fundamental disagreement between us took place while Yuki, aghast at being shut in the living room, cried mournfully at us. She loves Remic. He's her favourite thing to sit and stare at for hours, and we were not only depriving her of this entertainment, but also keeping her behind a closed door, which she is opposed to on a molecular level.

So. Eventually we got Rem in the duvet cover. Then the taxi driver showed up, having simply been told I would have "a pet" with me. Needless to say, he wasn't expecting the pet to be tied up in a duvet cover. Nonetheless, he hid his concerns well and off we went.

The vet was brilliant, and Rem behaved himself uncharacteristically well, without biting anyone, including himself. Rem had no problems with me or the vet touching the Bulge, and didn't seem to be in any discomfort, but again...idiot. The problem was, the vet has no idea what's causing the Grotesque Bulge. He said it looked like fluid, but when he poked Rem (carefully) with a needle, no fluid of any kind came out. The Bulge is too low down to be a problem with Rem's heart or stomach, but could possibly be a gut issue or a tumour, although it didn't really feel like one according to the vet. We could be looking at some kind of infection or virus, but there's no way to tell with just an external examination.

So I've had to leave him there overnight so he can have x-rays and ultrasounds tomorrow. There is the possibility that these won't help with a diagnosis, but there's really nothing to lose by trying. I guess every animal lover knows how hard it is to leave your baby at the vets' for any reason, but I kind of take comfort in knowing that Rem will likely not notice any difference.

So there we are. That was a pretty long, worrying Monday that didn't go according to any kind of plan. I have to go back to the vet after work tomorrow, hopefully to bring Remic home. Ket is currently doing his best to fill the void by trying to eat a mouse tail-first, and Yuki is staring into Rem's empty vivarium in a slightly offended manner. And I am having my first cup of tea of the day - it's now gone 10pm and I'm about six cups behind my usual schedule - and waiting again. Waiting for news, be it good or bad. That kinda sucks. This year has not been kind to me on the pet front so far. I shall be crossing Yuki's paws and Ket's tail that Remic comes home without a Grotesque Bulge tomorrow.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

I am a lazy blogger, it turns out. I even set myself a month-long blogging challenge for my Amber Morgan blog in April, and so far I've only managed four days of it. Some times there's just nothing to talk about though. I'm writing as much as I can, but do you need to hear that once a week? Probably not. And I feel like nothing else I do is worth commenting on, particularly. I mean, unless people are interested in the glamorous life of a PA? Probably not. So I just put off blogging until I have NEWS, and it then it just feels like I'm using the blog as an advertising board, which isn't what I want at all. And although I like sharing snippets from my work on Wednesdays, the further into a project I get, the harder it is to share non-spoilery stuff. Ugh. Blogging is hard. Here's a picture of Yuki.

She's very sensible, as you can see.

Anyway, I have been doing stuff other than writing and not-blogging. 22nd April was my birthday (I'm 33, which seems way too old for someone who has a toy unicorn on their desk at work), and I went on a Wickedness and Witchcraft tour of Cambridge! We saw Aleister Crowley's student digs and the rooms where Isaac Newton illegally practiced alchemy at Trinity College, as well as learning a fair bit about witch hunting. And our guide was a practicing Wiccan, so we also got to cast a spell at the end of the tour. As far as birthdays go, that was pretty awesome.

In the wake of my birthday (which also involved a lot of food), I came to the shocking realisation that I'm not getting younger and started panicking about my body. As I'm sure you can imagine, my day job is 100% sedentary (apart from frequent trips to the kitchen for tea), and also I'm pretty lazy, as established, so me and exercise are strangers to each other. I also really enjoy chocolate on a very fundamental level. I used to swim pretty regularly, but rotator cuff syndrome makes that an un-fun experience for me nowadays. That's a frustration, because I genuinely enjoying swimming, but nowhere near enough to put up with the chronic pain it causes.

So I decided to take up running. At this point I'll add that I have bronchoconstriction (also known as exercise-induced asthma, which sounds really made-up but is a thing), so I'm not really good at running and breathing at the same time. But I'm determined to make this happen and make my body less of a pain in the ass to live in. I went for my first run this Sunday and didn't die, which I consider a great triumph. I found this app to be incredibly motivating and hope to be apocalypse-ready in the near future.

Meanwhile, I am working on In Cold Blood and doing a ton of research to help inspire the world-building I need to do for Blood Canticles #3, as well as making a million bottles of perfume a week*, and somehow managing to fake being an adult at my day job (the unicorn on my desk isn't helping with that). So I guess I probably do have stuff to talk about and should make the effort to blog more often and worry less about whether anyone wants to read it. I mean, you read my books, right?

Right?

Haha. Let's finish with another picture of Yuki.

She refuses to explain to me what was happening here

*Give or take.