I once told my daughter once that the song "Ring Around the Rosie" was about the Black Plague. (Why did I tell a 7-year-old about the plague? Because I had finished with the Oxford Library of Greek Mythology and was desperate.) Now that I have contracted this weird cold/body-ache/stupor thing that everyone and their Aunt Lillian has had for the past two months, my daughter asked me if she should stand by my bed and sing "Ring Around the Rosie" to me. I told her to find the dictionary and look up the meaning of the word "macabre."
Even though I feel like I've been hit by a bus, I have been working steadily on Chapter 7. Of course, it may be complete drivel, considering I fell asleep in my chair last night and keeled over sideways. I'll have to read it through several times to make sure it makes sense. I asked my husband to read it and he opened the door and looked up to the sky. He then turned to me and said, "Sorry. There aren't any pigs out there."
Despite the wonderfully compassionate support I get from my family, Chapter 7 should be ready in a few days. Thanks for waiting.
A tiny excerpt to get you thinking: