When I first started writing this blog, back in August 2008, I intended that my posts would be a journal of my writing life, all the exciting things that fill the days of a Canadian children's writer.
But there are long stretches where nothing much seems to be happening, writing-wise, at least. That is usually because every day finds me at work on my latest project. I had promised myself from the beginning that I wasn't going to resort to blogging about what I ate for breakfast or the state of my digestion.
I am currently in contract negotiations with my publisher for the biography of Mary Pickford, and that's exciting. But otherwise, the work continues. Until I happened upon a book in the library that a writer friend of mine has just released, I had read nothing that wasn't related to Mary Pickford since I began the research, back in September.
What else can I tell you? It is a cold day. I have a pot of homemade soup simmering on the stove. Through my window I watch the birds visit the birdfeeders, before they dive down under the shrubs where the snow has provided a sheltering cave for them. It is lightly snowing.