I had a hot bath yesterday with the bathroom window open. It felt so clean.
Spooky took this photo yesterday, me and Hubero enjoying an open window:
I wrote 1,133 words yesterday, and I'm very near the end of Chapter Six of Red Delicious. This chapter wants to go on and on, probably because the next chapter is the last chapter, and there's nothing more terrifying than having to actually write THE END of a plot-driven novel (shudder). Life is devoid of plot. I know this. Quinn knows this. We're both pretending otherwise to maybe make readers happy. I looked over the final inks on some pages for Dark Horse. And that was about it. I'm not doing half as much work as I ought to be doing. That's perfectly clear. The weather holds me down.
Last night, we watched a surprisingly disquieting little film – The Bay (2012) – that, during the end credits, I was surprised to see had been written, directed, and produced by Barry Levinson.
I want a driver's license, and I want an old pickup truck. A truck old enough that I can work on it myself, whenever it needs repairs.
Now I wander away towards words.