There’s nothing special to report. A heavy fog settled today, wetting the grass and forbidding me to take my ax and sort out some branches. They only take trunks and leave branches whenever people cut trees. We cut four or five trees in the summer, but I piled up the branches in the corner of our land. Some festivities approach, and these wide forearm leftovers are neat for embers which we will use to roast pork. We’ll do it over a spit in our backyard and roast it by hand. It’s a tradition. You make a big fire, and a big fire leaves big embers. Pile that up, stick two Y holders, place a stake on them with the pork tied up in the middle, and start spinning it slowly. After six hours of continuous roasting, you get roasted pork. Simple as that, but damn it, the fog is so heavy today; I can’t see where I am going. And the vision is not the problem, but the wet grass will surely get in my snickers. And wet feet are a short way to catch a cold. With the festivity in the corner, I can’t get sick, not now when I am to receive guests. So… here I am, writing to you at noon, complaining. And I will probably sit here, edit and write my novel late into the night. I am blabbering now because I have a long work ahead, and I can’t make pauses to write a blog. If you are wondering how everything is going, well, I am back to my routine and making progress. Yesterday I managed to edit ten pages as planned, and now I will edit ten more. The sales of this Book Fair I mentioned last time are showing promising results. People are looking at our books, asking about the price, and making purchases. Everything is so damn slow, but at least we are making some action. It takes time for the audience to trust you, and we only offer a quality read. Someday, people will flock to our stand just as they are doing it with the bigger publishers out there. Small steps toward the future. And then again, I stare at the fog. I love fog… but not today.