This Is My Secret: The Blog and Website of Writer Kristin Cashore

So, am I insane if after traveling from Vail to Denver to Seattle to Palo Alto to San Jose to Austin to Houston to Miami to Jacksonville all in one week and doing lots of events and not getting enough sleep, I'm ecstatic that today I'll be spending the day in a very small house with my sisters (secret codenames: Cordelia and Apocalyptica), my brother-in-law (scn: Joe), my newborn twin nieces (scn: Phoenix and Isis), my mother, my father, two cats, and one flying squirrel?

In other words, it is Monday; I am in Jacksonville; my parents are here from New Jersey; Apocalyptica is bringing her flying squirrel all the way from Massachusetts; and I remember my pride. And tonight everyone will (tentatively) be at my event! BEST DAY OF THE TOUR.

:o)

In other news: I love the way Jay Smooth thinks, and I love the way he talks. This time, his subject is Roman Polanski.

If my subject heading doesn't make it clear, this post and its link are potentially triggery.

So, I'm in Vail, and the Sirens conference is about to start, and I know I'm supposed to be writing a post about how beautiful it is here, but there's only one thing I find myself able to blog about today, because of how deeply it pisses me off. It pisses me off so deeply that... *speechlessness* ...I can barely type.

Since the news broke on Sunday of Roman Polanski's arrest for a rape he committed 32 years ago, I have grown more and more stupefied by the public's response. Yes, I agree it was a while ago. Yes, I agree it's strange that they apprehended him now, after all this time. But it's not strange because they shouldn't have apprehended him. It's strange because they should have apprehended him a long time ago.

The man made some fantastic movies and clearly he's loved by many people. Newsflash: lots of people who do criminal, awful things al…