Ah, winter in New York State. Two whole degrees this morning, a heating pipe coupling keeps coming un-coupled, and the plumber can’t get here until tomorrow. Last week when the temperature hit fifty-three degrees only to fall quickly, it left a quarter-inch sheet of ice under the snow. Can’t open our back gate, can’t get into the shed, and have to get to the mailbox through the garage. Really good for sledding, though. Our neighbors have been having a blast.

I’ve sold the third story in my Daoist series, working—and probably final—title is “An Account of the Madness of the Magistrate, Chengdhu Village.” It should be up at Beneath Ceaseless Skies sometime this year and of course I’ll post updates as they occur.

Confession time: I’ve never been a huge fan of flash fiction. I always considered it something between a parlor trick and Short Attention Span Theater. Since I’ve joined the local writers’ group, however, I’ve come to appreciate the form a bit more, as we have to write one every week. It does require focus to distill any decent story down to 500 words or so and still have a decent story, with a beginning, middle, and end. It’s also good editing practice, as I tend to go over and have to whittle down the word count without losing the narrative. It’s never going to be my favorite form, but at least I can see the virtues in it now.

Speaking of which, I have one due on Wednesday. Better get cracking.