So glad Mercury is going direct! It’s been a hard one, this Pisces retrograde. For me, it came as the return of old sorrows—old relationships snuffed out, things that will never be mended.
But luckily, it turns out, at least I won’t have to bother myself with writing any more. Potato has taken over the author’s chair.
Witchy beauty of a full worm moon, how I love you! The wind is up, spring is here, the frogs are calling out romance. Woodsmoke floats in the air, sweet and a little dangerous. Equinox, hello.
Here is Potato with the latest New Yorker, giving her opinion of the literary establishment. Unlike me, she and her sister consume magazines starting at the corners, leaving frilled and bitten edges like lettuce.
I incorporated my beta readers’ comments into book two. This has been a hard last bit. Snow stayed, hard-crusted on the ground—we still have icebergs of it dotted across my backyard. Winter also stayed, with short days, and Daylight Savings was just an insult. I am prone to seasonal affective depression, but usually not so bad as this year.