Nose to the Grindstone

It's 's that time of the book again -- when all the prelim stuff is sorted and the story makes sense (I hope) and it's just a matter of putting in the hours.

And hours. And hours.

This is when my sons, who think it matters to us where we live, would be surprised to discover that I, for one, have no idea where I am most of the time, much less what goes on outside my door.

I'm pretty much locked in, grappling with Flynn and Sara, trying to channel their story -- and then fix it so it sounds like a real story and not a couple of talking heads.

To use a sculpting metaphor, I've got the marble in place; I have the general shape of things to come; I'm working on the large muscle groups at the moment. The book is taking shape. But it's got a long way to go before it becomes anything anyone but me would want to read. I'm not even sure I do. But I must. Even though I know it isn't going to ever be quite the quality of David over there.

Periodically I take the dogs for a walk and flip through the catalogues that land in the mailbox -- so I can tell what season is coming up.

And every now and then I mess with my Friday Night Film Night piece for the Pink Heart bunch. It will be posted March 30. So stay tuned. It's my "recreation" -- my respite from Flynn and Sara.

Sorry if it gets boring around here. I've been hoping Theo will come back and post again. He has promised when he gets a free moment, he will. Last time I saw him he was muttering something about "community service."

Ah, what a man will do for love!