One of the possible homes for our eventual  extravaganza  — and by “extravaganza” I mean something stripped down, intense, and spangled, ie no Les Miz, so I guess I don’t mean extravaganza after all, huh?  Anyway, the venue includes an entrance through a lovely Victorian-era house, itself a kind of character before a word is even uttered or a note played.  Atmosphere is the breath of theatre, isn’t it? You can almost smell the tired talcum and the fresh flesh.

As for Under the Poppy itself, it’s been gratifying to see the welcome the book’s already receiving and the excitement Small Beer’s engendered.  Thank you all for the congratulatory emails and shout-outs.  My puppets feel at home on the shelf already.