I got an advance copy of The Best of Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet yesterday, and look forward to reading it (though I read most of the contents in their original magazine appearances), and was gratified to see Flytrap mentioned in the acknowledgments. Since LCRW was, obviously, a major inspiration for us, that was a nice surprise. I do love this business.

I made a cheeseburger for dinner last night, and hung out with my sister-in-law and nephew a bit, and watched some Doctor Who, and wrote a couple thousand words on the Death novel. I realized yesterday that I'd written more on the novel this week than I usually produce in a month. (Though if the trade-off for such productivity is not having my darling wife nearby, I'll settle for slower output, thanks, no contest.) I'll post a total wordcount for my long lonely week on Sunday. One result of working so much on this book is that I'm thinking about it constantly, and thus generating ideas at a furious pace. I want to load every scene of this book with neat or subtle or crazy or surprising or cool stuff, you know? That said, last night was mostly set-up, laying the groundwork for a murder and a major plot complication. My plot is now basically split into three somewhat uneven viewpoint threads: Marla on the West Coast, getting ready for her trip to the underworld; Rondeau back in Felport, leading the resistance; and the crotchety cranky old necromancer who started all the trouble, also in Felport, becoming just a wee bit drunk with his own increasing powers. It's a juggling act and a balancing act, but I think I can keep the proportions right. At a bit over 50,000 words into the book, things are beginning to move very fast now...