Yesterday was spent helping my mother sort through one of the last two storage units they have in Indiana. Amidst stacks and stacks of boxes, we found half a dozen boxes of my things -- mostly books, some files over ten years old, Dev's old toys.

But stuffed into a box of books was a stash of spiral notebooks and a large envelope just the right size for a short manuscript. I pulled it out, not at all that interested when it seemed to be nothing but a partial of a story even now sitting on my computer and waiting for attention. But it looked like there was some printing on the other side so I turned it over and...

I jumped up and did a dance of joy. I'd found a full copy of a novella I'd thought lost forever in a computer crash five years ago. I stayed up far too late last night reading it. It still holds together and I'm still mostly happy with it, though I can see where I made changes I'd like to un-make.

That is my project for the week.

Now the only piece of writing that seems utterly and forever lost is a short story about Marty Dust and his Shelby. Alas, I did so love that story.

But! I have Serpent's Bedouin in hand! I'll start on it this evening.