There! Hear that high, keening, ear-splitting shriek, probably from somewhere in Texas?
Yep. That's me, wading my way through the first few chapters of The Painted Queen. Wading is probably the wrong word.
Straight up drowning?
But that's what happens when you change ideas midstream (ha. bad joke. laugh with me people. it's better than crying. *Maybe*)
Just when I think I'm about to drown, I take a quick break and find this on the book of face:
|I don't think what I'm doing is quite as good for my gluteus (muy) maximus.|
Damn you, uplifting encouraging message, damn you!
And now back to the slog.
(I think slog is the best word for this.)