All that's really going on in mine is that Anna's narrative has timeskipped up to her husband's death, because she thought it would be a good idea to sort out That Sort Of Thing as she doesn't actually AGE.

That, and the Joker is being wiggly. I get like one step away from pinning the bastard and it turns out to be a department store mannequin that blows up in my face. BANG.

Well, and I have been assaulted with a new novel, which is currently shouting louder than the other two novels I WAS working on, sort of.