After the deep discussions of mediocrity in the last few entries, I feel like I should lighten up, maybe give hints on how to get white wine stains out of your antique linen tablecloth. Sorry. I don't know how.

Instead I'll comment on the elusive and maddening Muse of Writing, who, in the middle of my current chaos, when I'm still promoting the last novel and gearing up for its large print edition, preparing for the launch of the next novel, and working on the sequel so that it's ready to go when my publisher is...

In the midst of all that, an idea hit, one that I simply must write down, at least in skeletal form, because it won't leave me alone until I do. It's intriguing, it hasn't been done ... and I need to do the outline and then put it aside for a month when I'm dying to dive in. That's how cruel Miss Muse can be.

But how cool to know she's there, waiting for me to get down to it.

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