First is that Monday saw the polished ms of The Willow Knot out of the house and into the postal system. 105,000 words, 510 pp in standard manuscript format. Sent via 'expedited mail', which is really just parcel post, but with a tracking number, which by previous experience will work until it hits the US border, or else until it reaches NY, where it will enter some sort of void. Probably a null void.
Anyway, gone baby gone. Now I need to up the wordcount in The Astrologer's Death to something respectable before I hit NaNoWriMo.
Second is that I've heard back about my x-rays and blood tests. No erosion in my joints. I am not a river delta (obligatory de Nile joke here). My blood is also normal, with no RA signs so far.
My ferratin level is crappy again, but I'm almost used to hearing that.
So it seems I'm pretty much a poster girl for methotrexate. The swelling in my left hand knuckles has gone down, though not disappeared, and there hasn't been anything I could definitely call side effects. I have had a mild nausea during the days, but that could just as easily be the cold I'm enduring, which has put my humours sadly out of balance--far more phlegm than blood or choler or black bile.
The pears and plums are all done, with very little waste, so I'm not too guiltstruck. Two apple trees to go, and I'm somewhere into the second dozen of pies I've ever made in my life.
A long drive into the interior last weekend, with gorgeous weather for most of it, that probably deserves a longer post.
And I'm reading manuscripts for a couple of my VPX classmates that are awful damned good.
