Greetings, foolish mortals. Sebastian Thunderpaws Hart-Bowling coming at you, from under the as-yet undecorated Christmas tree. This week, I have news. N and Writer Chick moved their meeting, this week, not only to Friday, but to N’s house, instead of Panera. How does this affect me, you may be asking? Writer Chick came home, smelling of Real Cat. Specifically, this one:
This cat was not, as one might think, my relief. My tenure as Cat regent needs must continue for the foreseeable future. The pictured cat is one of three cats who live with N and Mr. N, but she was the only one who marked Writer Chick as her own, by means of headbutts, ankle weaves, and attempting to disappear into the black of Writer Chick’s coat. It did not work. At least there are no young pretenders for my spot under the Christmas tree. That will probably help me endure my ongoing duties. Probably.
Time for the compulsories for the week. As always, Writer Chick was at Buried Under Romance on Saturday. This time, she reached out to her faithful readers to end her Christmas romance drought, and they did come through. What was the recommendation and was it enough to spark Writer Chick’s interset? Find out here.
As much as the Goodreads updates have meant to me, over the last few months, those are now over. Writer Chick has not only completed the challenge, but exceeded it, with ninety-one books read to date, out of ninety. That is four books ahead of schedule, and more than a week to spare before the end of the year. Not too shabby, Writer Chick. Bring it on for 2019. If you need a reading pillow, I make a good one. If you’re intersted in getting a closer look at teh whole shebang, here it is.
Writer Chick is seriously considering upping the goal for next yaar, to ninety-five, with an eye on one hundred in the next year or two after that. We will see what happens, but she’s feeling\\ng challengey, so watch this space for future details. Her most recent review of the year is actually for a historical romance, Trapped at the Altar, by Jane Feather, which had a lot of elements that make Writer Chick do a happy reading dancce. I am not allowed to show that footage here, but I can share a link. Her most recent read is a 20th century historical YA, Lies We Tell Ourselves. She doesn’t have a review up for that one yet, but have a look at that cover.
This morning, Writer Chick, and N, and probably N’s cat (I don’t know; she looks clever, and I wasn’t there, because nobody invited me. Stuffed guys like a little change of scenery too, you know.) had people food and people beverages and had to each lay out plans for what they mean to do in the coming year. What their goals are, and how they intend to achieve them. What it all boiled down to was “pick the thing you are most excited about, do that until it’s done, and then do the next thing.”
This should hold them over through the holidays, because they will meet, next, in January. At which time Writer Chick plans to show off the writing progress tracker she designed, and made a version of, on dot grid index cards. Writer Chick is hardcore like that. She is also, as I have gathered, pretty hardcore about Christmas in general, though that has not been much in evidence until last night.
Last night, Writer Chick unboxed the Christmas tree. I, of course, immediately claimed it as my own. She says she’s going to put some ornaments on it, once Dude is available. Normally, Writer Chick likes to spread out her Christmas preparation across the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but, this time, she seems to be cramming it all into the next few days. Call it turbo-Christmas. I am not sure what turbo-Christmas entails, I am pretty sure it’s going to involve twinkly lights, and some garland. She already found where Netflix keeps the Christmas movies. Something tells me there here is no stopping her now.