More distractions

The end is in sight - of The Tender Herb: A Murder in Moghul India, that is. It helps that I enjoy writing on trains, and currently I'm doing about eight hours a week on the train. It is less helpful that I would much rather look out the window, at the deer, the rabbits, the pheasants, the swans, geese and ducks, the buzzards and sparrowhawks, the desolate herons standing in flooded fields. The above nest of snowdrops is another bonus. However, it's time to think, and to knit, and to make hurried notes when ideas strike.

I'm currently wondering about promotion for this book and I'm contemplating Fire and Ice Booktours, a virtual tour on blogs. Last book I had a go at free books for reviews on LibraryThing: I think seventy people requested free books (ebooks, thank goodness) and I had about five reviews from it, so that was a bit of a wash-out (the reviews were kind, though). I've also had an idea for a virtual launch party, come the autumn - preparations have already started so watch this space! (well, don't really, not all the time: I'm sure you can find many more useful ways to spend your days. But pop back now and again to see if the drinks have been poured).

A little progress and a lot of rain

It's raining again. I know we haven't had it anywhere near as many places, but it was a beautiful morning, sunny and bright and cold, and now there we have it again. Number Two Cat, who is unnecessarily fluffy, weighed about three times his normal weight and nearly broke the cat flap when he slurped through it.

Chapter Seven is done and I'm now picking my way through the latter stages of Chapter Eight. I'm looking at an autumn launch for this one, which is probably a good thing. The factual history project I've been working on is at the proof stage but it's a complex proof stage, with several people checking it from a variety of angles. I wait impatiently as it should be available in paperback form from Createspace by the end of March - less than two months away! I'm trying very hard not to drum my fingers.

I've written a short story set in Newburgh, Fife, as a quick diversion, but short stories are rarely a quick diversion for me, and this one, entitled Dead Dogs and Apple Trees, has come a little unstuck as I stopped concentrating on it. Holding down a number of other jobs does not help! I must go back and finish it off, though: there's not much to do beyond the cover picture.