DLX

[desperance]

...tho' it's all a little slow and grim, we get there. Novelists are foot-sloggers at heart: one foot in front of the other, and repeat. Endlessly, as it seems. How can it be November? It isn't November really. I can't have been writing this book until November. Besides, I went out today without a jacket, it's that warm. Not November, then...

In other news: what other cat, raiding a neglected shopping-bag, would ignore (a) the cream and (b) the chicken livers, in order to ravage (c) the spicy tea loaf? He's not normal, I tell you...