Down This Long Road Is A Mailbox

At the bottom of this long and winding hill is a mailbox. I enjoy the walk down and even the difficult trudge back up -- gets the blood pumping, which is a welcomed change after typing all morning, and my Saint Nicholas gut tells me I should make the climb a few more times every day. Yesterday’s delivery (from the postman as he said with a smirk, “Read much?”) was HARDBOILED 3. I ripped open the package on the long climb up and read aloud, huffing and puffing, the glossy cover’s names: a distinguished gathering of greatness -- Josh Stallings, Andrew Nette, Patti Abbott, Sophie Littlefield, Chris F. Holm, Keith Rawson, Fred Blosser, Hilary Davidson, and Kieran Shea. A new co-editor is on board by the name of Elise Wright. I’m still tempting her with a full-time gig at the webzine, but she is holding out for more Jelly Bellies. We’ll see who wins.

So, after, I grab another coffee, I will admire the current paperback and then get moving on the next. Always be closing with quality, and the next book is a time traveler that I’ve left stranded for far too long in the 24th century.

And, more importantly, I plan on making more snow angels with my daughter. I didn’t mention that did I? Well, with the dusting of snow we got late yesterday afternoon, she made a total of thirty before the sun went down over the tree line. And I know with her daddy’s help, we can triple that number today. Here's a shot of one of our earliest efforts.