Abigail and I

I should have introduced Abigail (Not Abby) Evans into my book earlier.

Say, on page one.

She would have whipped Flynn into shape, sorted out the castle, sent brother Dev off with a flea in his ear, calmed the horses, bathed the dogs, laid the fire, and made a pot of tea.

I don't need her in my book. I need her in my life!

I wish she'd hop off the page and move in. But frankly I think she'd get impatient around here pretty quickly. She'd roll her eyes in despair if she saw my office. She'd have her work cut out for her sewing the dogs galoshes to keep them from tracking mud through the kitchen. And she'd probably have even more work convincing them to put their paws in fancy footwear.

But I wish she'd give it a try. Especially this week. If she were here this week I could probably get all my tweaking and tightening and sorting done and then do my headlong sprint for the end of Flynn's book without feeling like I have to stop every five minutes and wipe dog feet.

It's raining again. Can you tell?

I thought so. Abigail (Not Abby) says that doesn't matter, we simply Need A Plan.

What I think we need are more towels. But I'm leaving Abby, er, Abigail to it and working on the final run-through of chapter three.