I am happy to say my cup runneth over. These days I feel très bien, which is in stark contrast to the past year when I thought my general malaise — feeling low and kind of punk — had to do with being fifty (for the sake of the blog I am a perpetual fifty, just for those who are keeping track). I am happy to report that fifty is not an illness, but having a toxic gallbladder is. The loathsome thing was removed in September and after a couple days in these very sanitary surroundings:

I am home, feeling great, and am hellbent on — in this order — holiday prep, finishing my second novel, and figuring out how to promote my first:

It’s in His Kiss, by Vickie Lester. (click here)

There are those among you who might suggest that my boutique publishers going out of business had something to do with the malaise, and I don’t discount that at all, but I can’t blame them for organ failure…or can I?