No More Moving Goalposts

I am grateful for this last Thanksgiving. There was plenty of food, my sister visited, I made a lemon cake (my first ever) from scratch, and all was pretty relaxed. There was even piiiiie. (Said with a long, drool-filled i, no less.) Growing up, holidays were incredibly stressful, because they had to be Perfect, and the goalposts for Perfect kept moving. I'm everlastingly thankful that I don't have to do that now as an adult.

I even turned in a revision almost two weeks early (I like working ahead, it soothes me) so I could concentrate on cooking and having a bit of a rest. And I could poke at the zombie cowboy story, which will probably get a fair bit of work done on it between now and my drop-dead date for beginning the next Bannon & Clare. Forcing myself to take a break is a good idea, even though my "breaks" look just the same as "work" to the untrained eye. *waggles eyebrows* The need to write is unceasing.

My irritation with the "holiday season" is likewise unceasing. Eh. I've complained about that elsewhere.

It's taken me, what, five hours to get this far on this post? I've been doing a rush edit job for a friend at the same time, and my brain has been sieved. At least there was some quiet while I focused on it. Even if that quiet made me start up suspiciously sometimes, thinking that it was too quiet and the kids were Up To Something. Soon they'll be home, and there will be the usual level of noise and frolic.

I can't wait.

Related posts:I Keep Hoping
Small Graces
The Merriest Time