To my scattered agents go

[desperance]

...and, more importantly, to my editor. New book, submission draft: polished up, parcelled up and gone. Phew.

[ETA: response from editor? Out-of-office. Figures...]

Tonight I dine in town with almost the oldest of my friends, almost the longest-standing. But that's dinner, and this isn't lunch yet. What to do, with the day between...?

Oh lor', I don't know. 'Spect I'll think of something. It may well involve shopping. Or alcohol. Or work. Or all of those.

Meantime I have good bread (I know it's good, I baked it); I have chorizo and bacon and mushrooms and eggs. It is not impossible that I can create a luncheon fit for a man who has no book to write. Until this afternoon, perhaps...

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

*grin*

Thank you!

[mroctober.livejournal.com]

I wish I had your dedication.