At least I wasn't the Flighty One. Although they seem impervious to little things like WWII.
I have long suspected that I am The Worrier in a Noel Streatfeild children's novel, and yesterday confirms it. Fourth Street was like having a long run with a good part in something in those books, surrounded by sparkly people doing sparkly things. Then yesterday the con was over, and I came down with a bump: had to put alecaustin on a plane, got called for jury duty, various ordinary lows not worth going into in detail but filled with ignominy for me and those around me. (Also I was completely out of energy, uff da. And still am. There's a lot I could do this 4th St. that I couldn't do last 4th St. When people observed that I seemed to be doing significantly better, I didn't want to kick them, because they were not engaging in wishful thinking, they were right. However, this is one of those cases where "better" and "all better" are not exactly the same. Still, "better" is very much worth having.)
Today, in keeping with the whole Noel Streatfeild plot, I sold a story: Andromeda Spaceways is buying "The Witch's Second Daughter." This is the one where I bought the elisem earrings for seagrit and then wrote her the story as well, although it started being for Amber (the elder niecelet) also when I wasn't looking, and now it's for Amber even when I am looking, and I don't think the rest of you will have to look very hard to see that, either. So there's a thing.
And now I'll have to write another for Lily and sell it before she's big enough to know the difference.