The promised snow has not arrived, but I’m sure that’s a minor detail. The sky looks grayish, but it could easily clear.
Last night was my free night on the D.I.E.T.–I’m always ready to get back on the plan the next morning. This is a totally new experience for me. I don’t yearn for any particular food or drink when I can’t have it–not even that one glass of wine, which is rapidly losing it’s charm. Did it always taste like vinegar, or is it just me?
Although you might not think so from reading this blog–the references to art and to goofing off at the casino, for example–the wheels are always turning in my head, generating the new story. When asked how many hours per day I actually write, I could honestly say “twenty-four”–and if I don’t decompress once in a while, the process becomes much more difficult. Writing does not get easier with experience–instead, my standards go up. I always want the next book to be better than the last one.
I see a woman had a baby in an art museum–performance art? You be the judge.
Have a good weekend, and I’ll be right here on Monday morning, probably talking about snow.