Lost a week. To this thing called Christmas, and to a horrible flu. The workaholic in me says, "got both out of the way at the same time..."

As of today, I'm starting my research for "Fires of the Djinn." I skimmed "Young Men and Fire," now I'm going to read it from beginning to end. After that, I'm going to read "The Big Burn," by Timothy Egan. I have a dozen other firefighting books, so I'll decide after that which one to tackle. Giving over the whole month to this process, which seems like an incredible luxury.

I am going to go ahead and try some agents. I don't really have to wait to do that. I can send my first three chapters. I don't expect much, not because I don't think I'm good enough or the premise isn't good enough, but because of the way the process is currently overwhelmed. No one's fault.

I'll publish it myself on May 1st, if nothing else happens.  This book was a challenge--maybe a little beyond me, but I gave it my best shot.

My New Year's resolution is to get back to reading again. At least a little everyday. This year was probably the least number of books I've read in my adult life.

I'm trying to slow the process down, hopefully without losing momentum. Every time I think that might happen, up pops a little story out of the blue like "Said the Joker, to the Thief." So far, I've never had to worry about having ideas.

I woke up the other day having completely rewritten a movie I haven't actually seen based solely on a review. Made the movie better, too. Which is my subconscious saying, "Dude, let's get writing!"