Mr Head, him no working

Went into town today for what was supposed to be my last ever sinus scraping. Oh dear, sweet, biscuit-eating Christ, I so wanted it to be the last one. But it's not. After a prolonged rummage about in my sinuses with what felt like a section of scaffolding pole, the surgeon has decreed one more that my experience has been unfortunate, but atypical, and that everything should be better in about a month. ish. Month and a half tops. He even smiled as he said it.

So that's another four weeks to go of feeling like someone's rammed flaming marshmallows up my nose and into my brain. Hurrah! Plus I'm back on the antibiotics as soon as I can safely get to a chemist -- which will be tomorrow -- so it's going to be a long, bleak fortnight. *sigh*

On the up side, now that Book Number The Third is in with the spoon-weilding mercenary Amazons of HarperCollins I've got a wee while to kill before I have to do any actual work. So plenty of time to glodge about the place, whinging and recovering.

Well, except for this bloody short story and the two blurbs I promised I'd write. The shorty is... well, I've still got a couple of days to do it in, but... Not sure. I get the feeling I'll end up ditching the one I'm working on (when it's finished) and doing something else instead. Maybe I should just quit while I'm behind and scrap it now? But I hate giving up on a story. I did that to a whole novel last year: TSA died in the bowels of the uber edit, and with another three Logan McRae books in the contractual pipeline it's likely to stay dead. By the time I'm in a position to actually write something else -- assuming I've not been drummed out of the write-ists club and banned from ever besmirching the field of crime fiction ever again -- there's bound to be loads more stories I want to tell. So dead it will remain, dead and buried under a pile of dusty cat hair and old socks.

Gone and never called me mother.

Plus my desk hasn't been tidied in months and looks like an explosion in a landfill site. Only without all the dead rats and used condoms. Well, maybe a couple of dead rats, but I was hungry, damn it! Maybe I should just go tidy that instead?