My dogs think I am blind. This is because I get up early to write. Very early. The house is dark. I don't live alone. I step on the dogs.
In the dark, I knock over lamps. A bit of irony here, I think. Then I tumble across the floor in my underwear with an upholstered recliner in my arms. And somehow I manage to turn on the coffee.
I keep thinking, if I close one eye and leave the other one open, that I can see in the dark. I can't.
It might be 2:30 in the morning. It might be 3. Once I get the coffee on, I have had a successful day.
I took off a few months from most other activity to write a novel. Sadly, "most other activity" included doing this blog. The book is done now. And it is off to see the world (please, do not open books in the dark -- they don't like it when you do).
All the characters who matter in this novel are dead. What can I say? I do ghosts.
Speaking of having a successful day, the manuscript (is it really a manuscript when it circulates as a digital file?) of mostly dead people recently found a quick and lasting friendship with a wonderful agent, who has my ghosts now. I am very happy about that.
