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Ham and Eggs in Ascalon

On this day twenty-five years ago, I began writing Silk. I was living alone here in Birmingham, in an apartment on 16th Avenue South, and I really didn't believe I'd ever publish a novel. I was just writing to stay sane and busy.

As for today, even though I had another night of insomnia, it was a better day. I did some editing on "Iodine and Iron," which I'm going to try to finish tomorrow.

Spooky and I moved the big display case from the living room to the dining room, and I'm sort of amazed we managed it without help.

Last night, after suffering through 1922 the night before, I decided it would be good to stick with films I know and love, just for a little while, rather than risking another turkey of that magnitude. So, last night it was Reservoir Dogs. And tonight it was True Romance.

For dinner, Spooky made smoked sausage, mac and cheese, and okra with tomatoes and corn.


1:18 p.m.


( 1 comment — Have your say! )
Oct. 12th, 2018 02:51 pm (UTC)
25 years and a lifetime ago. "Silk" was my introduction to your world, discovered on a late night after drinking in L.A. and drowsily perusing the shelves at the local bookstore before closing. I still have my battered copy on my CRK shelf next to my plastic dinosaurs.
( 1 comment — Have your say! )