And very nearly on the deadline, too. I'm beat, but this oft-seen and -imitated number exemplifies how good it feels to be done within fudge range (i.e., it was due on the 20th, but our editor, the gracious and saintly Susan J. Morris, granted us the Thanksgiving weekend, and it all worked out).
Take it away, Bill.
Introducing the official mascot of Corythosaurus, my middle nephew, Mr. Brayden "Brady" Saavedra. This year, Brady chose a Halloween costume that spoke to the importance of the American highway in the development of 20th Century culture. Or perhaps he was illustrating one of the terrifying causes of global warming, a chilling Halloween apparition of the 21st. Or, and I think this is the case, he digs the song.
The reflective lane dividers? Functional and safety conscious. Those cars careening into Brady's armpits? Totally going to manage to careen back onto the road. Halloween magic, my friends, just in time for Thanksgiving.
They make me cry and drink and cry in my drink.
But then again, better than not having them at all, better by far. The first major iron in the fire is a first draft of my first attempt at outright collaborative writing with Mr. Scott McGough. We're both used to charging for the finish line with a first draft, but now we're charging out of sequence and its requiring staggering feats of frequent electronic communication.
Second big iron is Pirates of the Burning Sea. Jess Lebow and I and the rest of the Pirates content department were joined by Chris Pramas. Chris rules. The department, hereafter known as ConCo, is furiously generating the words and storylines that will make up the life of a seafaring captain. Been spending a lot of time peering at maps of Bermuda and concocting (hopefully) nifty naval encounters.
I don't know if anyone's reading this blog but my mom (hi, Mom), but just in case, that explains the dearth of posts lately.
