The great cliché is to be thankful for something at Thanksgiving. Let me do my part to feed this monstrosity.
I’m at home today working on the sequel to my novel. Which, compared to, say, planting landmines or performing large-animal necropsies, is nice work if you can get it. My girlfriend is at home today working on the first draft of her novel. She’s entering Act III and can see the light at end of the tunnel. (The two best words in any novelist’s twisted brain are “…the end.”)
We’ll get together later today, but this morning? We’re slogging through our novels.
Nice work if you can get it.