Dirty books, aching heads and James Purefoy

This is going to be one of those random "I haven't blogged properly in a while so here are some random thoughts," blogisodes, folks.
First up! The edits for A Little Death have been dealt with; well, this round anyway. I think the book goes off to the line editors next. Some strange, powerful and mysterious being will be giving Jonathan Cutler the once-over as we speak, I expect. No cover art for that or Stay the Night yet, but as soon as they appear and I'm given the okay, I'll spooge them all over this blog.

I've been working on a short novella for a few weeks now, Temporary Position, but don't take that as gospel. It may well change, and it's not a title I'm overly attached to. It was a mere working title that stuck. Anyhoo, it's a menage story and I hope it comes in at around about 15k words, but you know me and my nasty habit of writing long. Hell, StN came in at 52k as I recall and I started out aiming at less than half that.

There have been two causes of delays in my new-words output lately - deadlines on edits, which are part of the staple diet of any writer - and migraines, which bloody well should not be, but for me...they're something I've lived with for decades now. I lose approximately three days and my stomach lining at a time, and with two in the past fortnight, that means I'm missing a huge chunk of June so far. In fact it still feels like May to me.

Hopefully a trip to the G.P, a course of medication and a course of action that fucking works this time, will give me my life back. But I wouldn't count on it, knowing the N.H.S.

*whinge*

Right, where was I? Oh yes. This week's been chock-full of Purefoy. I watched every episode of Injustice this week, and Camelot this evening (King Lot died in episode two of the double-bill so there's no point watching any more of it). Naturally I've pre-ordered Injustice on DVD (released on Monday) and not just because of the presence of the Hottest Man in the Entire Universe, Fact (tm). It was intricately plotted, exquisitely scripted and very well-acted. Kudos to Anthony Horowitz.

The presence of Purefoy, as with any situation, helped. Natch.

Speaking of whom:

"Scarlett? You're going down."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a menage smutvella to finish, my own fucking traitorous head permitting.