A bit melancholy this morning. Nothing serious. Existence itself includes melancholy, it seems to me. A certain sadness about human imperfection and all the difficulties we create for ourselves. A lot of these "heavy issues," the life and death stuff, will face CJ in the new novel, as he observes the suicide club in action. And looks at his own mortality.
I have a good fifty page start but the meat is down the road. An efficient set up is what I'm working on now. I would love to have a draft in Spring. If the draft is close, it will be down hill. But it's a complicated issue, and CJ is a complicated character.
My frend in LA, who just retired, claims to have email at home now but she's not responding. Not a computer lady and all my correspondence had been through her work, so not sure if we stay in touch as much now. Hope so. She makes me laugh. Not many people do.
Expect an Amazon Prime Now delivery before 10 a.m.
In the 20s outside. Too damn cold for me.
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