There's not much I can do at the moment. I'm too sick to work, either on site or from home. I'm making lots of mistakes still with the fever.
I can't read.
I can't edit Mermother.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I can't talk.
I'm really great at coughing.
So I started writing a new novel. The good news and the bad news is that it already reads better than Mermother. My mermaids will be furious if I give up on them. I'm thinking I should publish soon and set them free. I have played around with the plot so much that it doesn't hang together nicely. This disappoints but at the same time builds my resolution to become a better writer.
I miss playing my piano downstairs. Too sick to go down. Nervous on the stairs because am dizzy. It's a Bell from 1900. Never give up your Bell piano. And certainly don't chop it up for firewood. Sacrilege.