The blog's still here, I see.

I thought I should check in. During the past few weeks I've been buried under work. There's probably something interesting that I could jot a few lines about but right now I can't think of what that might be. You probably don't want to be regaled with tales of how I'm spending twelve hours a day working with notes on insurance cases. I thought not.

This is the curse of the freelancer. There's always not enough work, or else too much. It's never just right. In the fall, when work was sparse enough for me to be doing my part on the new mystery I knew the time would have to paid for and that's what I'm doing.

Winter's the best season to be overworked. We're iced in anyway. The temperatures have hardly climbed out of the single digits for days and the wind's moving the blind despite the storm windows. Our pipes have frozen again -- yet. We've got the taps running. The furnace is cranked up as high as the thermostat will go and we couldn't get the temperature in here to sixty all day. The space heater never stops. Did I ever mention this place was built for a summer cottage?

The groundhog claimed spring was right around the corner. I hope so. I'll be back eventually.