So, I'm home for more than a week this time. I've forgotten what that feels like. I'll even be home for Friday night, for the first time in more than a month. I don't have anything major or pressing on the agenda today, and it's kind of cold -- cold enough to bring out the fuzzy pink bathrobe. It's actually not all that cold outside, but it was cold this morning, and my house doesn't warm up much during the day. That's lovely in the summer, but in cooler times of year it means the house can often be colder than it is outside, unless I turn the heat on, and I'm not yet ready for the heater. I'll be all cold inside, then bundle up to go outside and realize that it's actually not so bad outside.
I'm pretty tired (gee, I wonder why), so I'm seriously considering a nap. That sounds so decadent! Maybe a walk later in the day. It's going to take getting used to the concept of free time.
But not for long. My agent's back from vacation, and the, "So, do you have anything written up we can try to sell?" e-mails have started, and if I want to be able to participate in my own Noncomformists Novel Writing Month in January, I guess I need to sell something so I'll have something to write. The plan is to spend this week thinking while I try to clean my house. The first half of next week, before the holiday, will be my pre-book "retreat." I may do some outlining and brainstorming over the Thanksgiving holiday. And then the week after Thanksgiving, I'll write my proposal for book 5.
To do that, I'll need to be thoroughly rested, which totally justifies an afternoon nap, I think.