Here, have another photo.

This one's not as exciting as the others.  It's the (currently) dull view outside my window.  It's been raining all afternoon.  The ground is thoroughly soaked, but I'm inside lying in bed, drinking wine, and working on my novel.  My essays are done and handed in, I survived my Latin midterm, I finally ate a healthy meal this morning, I got to skype for almost two hours with my friend (codename:) Pencaitland, and I'm only a thousand words behind schedule.

Okay, yes, there are still a million things that absolutely must be done, and soon, but for now, just--just give me this small victory.  I made it through the week.  (Thank god it was only four days.  Happy Veteran's Day, my loves.  Go hug a vet.)

Magical Realism...

is how the academic world can accept small doses of poetic urban fantasy as real.  It's how the erudite literati can pick up and read a fantasy novel without addressing or suffering under the stigma of it.

Academia drives me crazy sometimes.  There's nothing wrong with liking fantasy!  We don't have to classify it under some highbrow genre title just because the prose is pretty and there are non-anglo cultures represented in the story.  If there are ghosts and spirit guides, you're probably reading fantasy.

Good grief.