Kage Baker always chipped away at January bit by bit, little glistening petals of pastel-coloured chill. She made up her January out of these pale ices, still reflecting the glories of Christmas and predicting the beauties of spring.

If you will be so kind as to imagine me seated in my armchair, waving my hands languorously in the light from my lamp, casting glints from my rings (onyx and amber, right now), you will a fair picture of me at the peak of my activity tonight. Which is to say. I am just not capable of much tonight.

Sorry, Dear Readers. I am not rising to the challenges of the New Year tonight. However, I want you to know I’m not dead. Which I’m not.

More later!