Well, darn. My Mystery Package turned out to be a mistake. That is, it was a copy of a book that I'd ordered and received already, but for some reason I got sent a second copy by mistake. I'm going to have to return it.
It just goes to show, anticipation is often better than satisfaction.
We had a used book sale at work today (one of the perks of working at a college), but I only found three books, all mysteries, two of which I've already read. While I was browsing the tables, I discovered I was lacking in enthusiasm. I knew there were gems lurking amid the battered V.C. Andrews and David Eddings paperbacks, but I just didn't care. I think I'm book-saled out for the time being.
On the writing front, I'm in my usual spring slump. I've got a number of projects pending--the swashbuckling fantasy, Little Sparrow, the untitled romance, and any number of minor stories that I could easily develop--but it's hard for me to buckle down to anything in particular. On the other hand, I've been thinking a lot about the sequel to Bell-Men (since you know there has to be a sequel; in fact, I envision it as a trilogy), which I've tentatively titled Bloodhound. And yesterday I opened my spiral notebook to a new page and started writing it. Why not? I still haven't heard back from Pyr or the agent I've queried, incidentally. The business end of writing is so much of a waiting game.