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Again not raining

Grass wet from dew and overnight showers, but sunshine through the fog. Air temperature 61 F, dew point 60, calm. We seem to have acquired a phoebe in the yard -- seen it for several days now, no PHOEBE! PHOEBE! calls so we may not need to fear a nest.

Past the 1/3 point of comparing text file of THE SUMMER COUNTRY to the old page proofs. Tedious, and I haven't found much to change -- a couple of misplaced carriage returns, and some anachronisms (NYNEX instead of Verizon) that reflect the time lag between writing that chapter and page proofs.

We have new cover art for SUMMER COUNTRY and WINTER OAK, which will become public at some point.

Need reviews of POWERS on Amazon and B&N, folks. Reviews boost sales, and sales mean you get to read The Further Adventures Of. If you read it and liked it, please, please, pretty please? As usual, if you read it and hated it, STFU.



Rain overnight, continuing this morning and (supposedly) into tomorrow. Showers after that. Glub. At least we don't have a tropical storm parked offshore, feeding the precip . . .

Air temperature 61 F, dew point 59, wind east at about 5 mph. Flood watch in effect here, warning in effect in that town that got washed out over the weekend.

Added about 500 words to DOMINIONS yesterday, chapter XXXIII, in which Heroine has to subdue Friend without causing permanent damage. Evil magic involved, sowing dissent in the ranks. Writers are Mean People.


More Sun

I don't know if the lawn can take this extended drought . . .

Air temperature 55 F, dew point 52, wind south about 5 mph, scattered clouds. I intend to get out for a bike ride this morning.

Don Quixote attacks windmill.

I hate to purvey gloom and doom, but the free-run salmon, sturgeon, alewives, and shad have other problems. They go out to sea and vanish. On the other hand, watching video of the equipment attacking the concrete fishway gives me the creeps. That thing was falling apart in place, deteriorated into standing gravel . . .


Air temperature 53 F, dew point 51, calm, scattered clouds for the newspaper walk.  Jet contrail heading right into the rising sun, invoking Douglas Adams resonance.

I think I may give up on politics entirely.  True Believer Syndrome overrules all discourse on all sides.  The other guys are demons . . .