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I have a bunch of Conflux reporting to do, but I have had a good night's sleep and the truth keeps rolling through my brain. Truth has a skipping sound to it and says "I have a new book, a new book, a new book!" The cursewall is cracked and something slipped through!

The curse was operating right to till Saturday. Wednesday was the most interesting day. The person launching the book was suddenly unable to come to Conflux. The printer had tangled the day and the book had not even reached the presses. And that was just the big stuff!

Nick Stathopoulos saved the day (as he does - I am blessing the moment he popped into Facebook and said "See you Friday" to me) and the printer entirely shifted the schedule to make sure that everything got where it should.

The biggest curse legacy for Life Through Cellophane is that, amidst the turmoil, the bottom line of the dedication somehow disappeared. I suspect it went to get itself a drink. Anyhow, when I sign books I ask if people want me to complete the dedication in a unique way. The variants on that last line are growing. If you own Life Through Cellophane (or plan to own it) I am happy to provide personalised text for the missing line. It would be more fun if you invented your own, though.

In a few days time I shall have the final of my amazing bookplates. If you buy any book of mine (Illuminations, Life Through Cellophane - these are the choices so far) I can sign you an elegant Kathleen Jennings bookplate and then post it to you.

Now I'm wondering, now I have email back and am teaching tonight, does anyone really want my last Conflux posting? If enough people say 'yes' I'll do it. If no-one says 'write it' I shall burble on happily about the book and go teach my tonight-students the difference between listening and hearing as a writer. Also adjectives. I feel adjectivally inclined.

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I am being lured into temptation. Victorian religious fiction looks a lot more fun than I thought. This is a worry. Or it would be a worry, if I had any time to get hold of any.

Instead of reading Victorian religious fiction, I'm reading a yummy book that just fell into my clutches. Paul Haines' Slice of Life. The one with the truly vile cover.

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Did I even remember to say I have run out of unpublished short stories? (I didn't have many, so two in print in a single weekend wiped them out.) And that I'll be ready to clean up my ghost novel in two weeks. I don't like looking for publishers, but it must be done. The final printed books look so pretty. Life Through Cellophane looks particularly pretty. May it lure many readers into its clutches.

I took a couple of books to class tonight to illustrate voice. One of them was Life Through Cellophane. I suggested a student read just the first few lines, because I needed an illustration and that was the only thing in the selection that did what I was explaining. She looked up guiltily ten minutes later. She hadn't found what I'd told her to find. She had however, kept on reading. This is a tendency I could get used to.