So, maybe I was wrong.
 
Last week I posted that I was finally getting a handle on the bronchitis that had slowed my life so abruptly. After feeling exhausted for weeks, I was feeling better. I was feeling so much better that I’d rolled up my sleeves to tackle the finishing touches on the very latest, very last, version of The Fourth Brother.  Progress was being made – and IS being made, by the way. Not as quickly as I’d like, but still, just wait until you read the church scene – and happy, happy, bluebirds and joy, I felt confident when I promised myself and the world that we’d all see the story’s publication by no later than…today.
 
If you’ve checked your calendar, it’s today. I still don’t have a published story to share with you. I’m a bit disappointed about all of this but only mildly so, because I’m still sick.
 
I didn’t know this, of course, when I wrote last week’s post. I put my words online, and went to bed with the pleasant confidence of someone who feels as if she’s was on the mend. When I woke up the very next morning, I started to wonder. I was coughing more. I heard some noises in my lungs that I hadn’t heard before. Although, that’s not strictly so. I’d heard similar sounds a few years back, the time I had pneumonia.
 
I also felt exhausted. Going from the bed to the bathroom and back again can do that to a girl.
 
Whipping out his stethoscope (Glynn works in the medical field and has a couple of the things. Did you know, medical professional or not, you can buy your own stethoscope at this very minute, and that the prices range anywhere from reasonably inexpensive to unreasonably costly? For less than fifteen dollars, Amazon will ship you a black Omron Sprague Rappaport stethoscope for your use and you’ll have it by the end of the week. Old movies have taught me that you can crack safes with one of those), Glynn pressed the stethoscope’s big round part against my thin nightie and gave me a listen.
 
As I inhaled and exhaled, he told me, “There’s a wheeze that wasn’t there yesterday. It’s in both bases.”
 
I didn’t respond because even I could hear the wheezing. Even without some fancy $15 OSR gizmo.
 
“There’s all kinds of rattles I haven’t heard earlier, too,” he said. “Better call the doc.”
 
Long story short, my medical professional decided she wanted to see me, too. I’ve visited with her a couple of times since then. Now on a pair of new inhalers, antibiotics, and steroids, I’m feeling much better. Again. And our story is almost, almost done. Next week for certain.
 
Unless I come down with the bubonic plague.

Once upon a time,  did I mention my writing plan for 2016?
 
I suppose I probably did. Since Glynn believes I’m incapable of keeping a secret – of course, at the time he suggested as much, I’d just revealed one of his to a relative stranger – no, I’m not going to share it in the blog – okay, here it is: he writes almost all of the sex scenes in our stories. I make suggestions but I find myself too embarrassed to pen the sentences – so I doubt if I’ve kept any secrets from you. Not that my writing goals for 2016 were a secret.
 
By the way, I wish you could have seen the look that guy gave Glynn, when he heard that my sweetie wrote the sexiest bits of our novels and novellas. From the expression in his eyes, it was as if he thought Glynn was PERFORMING the naughty bits twice nightly, five days a week, in an off-strip Las Vegas dive. I wanted to laugh. Glynn didn’t find it as amusing as I did.
 
Come to think of it, I don’t believe our new neighbor has come over to visit even once since we had that conversation. But I see I’ve drifted off-topic. Again.
 
I intended for One Bride for Seven Brothers: The Fourth Brother to come out in late May, which was optimistic but no one would become a writer if they didn’t swim in the Sea of Optimism. My rose-colored glasses fit very nicely, thank you, unlike my real glasses, which are pinching my nose. Hoping for the best wasn’t quite enough when it turned out that we couldn’t stop adding to the story, then we had all those weeks enjoying our amazing visitors, plus cuddle time with wonderful babies, plus I fell down and broke, so a publication delay was almost inevitable.
 
For us, the really good news is that the end is in sight. There is a really, really good chance that the story will be out before the end of August, since I’m working on the final edit right now. I may be coughing and wheezing (darn bronchitis), but I intend to get this done.
 
If you want to know the moment we hit print, subscribe to our newsletter thingie. If you’d like to know almost-as-soon but you’ve had your fill of newsletters, I’ll share the scoop with you here.
 
For now, I’d best pick up my red pen and get back to work. Glynn is relaxing right now, but he’ll be busy soon. I’m going to tell him the story needs another sex scene or two.

​If you’re wondering where I’ve been, or why the blog hasn’t appeared recently, or why the 4th Brother hasn’t made any appearance at all, I have a solid excuse. I’ve been sick. Miserably sick. (I was even coughing as I typed the words, Miserably sick.) “Miserably sick” is a little strong, now that I think about it, even if I’ve been sick and felt somewhat miserable. Really sick people are too ill to take the time to write a blog. I am not among their number.
 
It’s not all that surprising that I caught a bug. This summer, we’ve had many, many house guests and among those house guests were the most adorable babies and children, and a couple of the little ones weren’t well when they walked through our door. One had a cough, then another caught the cough, then gastric upset invaded the group, sending food out of the in-hole, so to speak, and none of it was unexpected. If you’ve ever been a parent, you know that kind of thing happens, especially when people have traveled for hundreds of miles.
 
I didn’t mind it at all. I happily held and kissed and hugged the little ones, over and over again. When the wee folk went home, I missed them terribly. Almost miraculously, I hadn’t caught their colds and my stomach felt fine. I know this is true because I gorged most gloriously on the large pieces of the homemade carrot cake that one of my favorite adult visitors had left for me and Glynn.
 
In between visiting and babies, I worked on rewriting 4th Bro’, as did Glynn, but our writing schedule was pretty much shot. With our attentions divided, we were putting out less than half of our usual word count.
 
Then, a few days later, more visitors arrived. Coming all the way from China, these were two more of my most favorite people. One of them also had a cough but I insisted on sharing hugs and kisses all around, anyway. When people you love come from a long way away, and you fear you won’t see them for years, some touching is mandatory.
 
These visitors came bearing gifts. One of these gifts is the mighty Panda King you see in the above image. It’s an inexpensive action toy (it’s both a “Panda King” and a “soldier machine”, according to the packaging, which is the only English wording on the thing), and it…well, it’s bizarre. “It holds a gun!” Glynn said, laughing, as if its half robot/half panda bear body wasn’t the weirdest thing about it. He loves it. It sits on his work desk, standing guard beside General Toad, and its freakiness tickles him.  When he found out that panda bears are considered symbols of good luck in China, he liked it all the better.
 
Since he’s arrived, the Panda King has been a little stingy with his luck, if you ask me. Panda in hand, our guests arrived during a heat wave, which never went away. Heavy thunderstorms punctuated almost every day of their visit. We still enjoyed one another’s company, we had a good time, we caught up and played board games, and then – for one, brief, glorious, still too hot day, the clouds parted. Since our visitors were leaving the country in two days, we knew we had to seize the opportunity to get out. They’d been eager to tour Sedona, the land of the red rocks, so we all jumped in the car and raced many, many miles down the road.
 
They did the tourist-thing, Glynn and I did the sweating-thing as temperatures crept ever higher, and, by the end of the day, we were all ready to go back to the car. Crossing the street, I went ahead of the others. Moving a little too quickly – there was a wrinkle of shade just a few feet ahead and I wanted to bask in its comfort – I managed to catch the heel of my shoe on the edge of the concrete curb. Twisting as I tumbled, I bounced against the cement. My hip was bruised, my back was wrenched and I think I cracked a rib or two.
 
Not the best end to a fine afternoon.
 
The cough arrived two days after my fall, just as we loaded our visitors onto an airport shuttle. As the cough continued, I was soon reminded that cracked ribs and a hearty cough do not play well together. My doctor says I have viral bronchitis, which laughs at modern antibiotics, and all I can do is rest and try to get better. Which is what I’m doing now.
 
Panda King, you owe me.