I'm at home, now, finishing up my Christmas stuff and writing and reading and spending time with the family. Today my brother and I went to three bookstores to buy two books. We're bad at this game.
By the way, I'd like to lodge an official protest against the holiday that seems determined to rub in my face how much I love books and how little I can afford buying any more. Afford both in terms of money and time. I am so behind on my reading, folks. So behind. I have four books with me on this trip. God, I look forward to reading them.
So that's what I'll be doing, in this time of cheer and good will. Reading about magicians and slaves and wine. Oh, and writing a thriller screenplay, where I have to address notes like "Instead of stabbing her, he should take her beer bottle from her and jam it through her eye, killing her instantly."