…writers I know just edit and edit and edit, then spend more time than the ms’ composition submitting their work to publishers who more than likely just throw it in a fucking circular file.  One thing I can say for self is that I’ve always been a serious writer, but my publishing practices have been anything but Hollywood Star-worthy.  It’s been more a joke, really.  That’ll change, this month, my month, November with all its colors in the vineyards and how the air’s just different, assuring travel.

Daylight “savings” tonight.  Actually, this is a bit of savings, really.  In theory, or some kind of quirky theorized tradition, I gain an hour.  So if I were to wake at 4, it’d really be 3. OH… can you imagine?  Writing from 3 to 6, or even 7?  This novel writing month’s countdown would have no chance against me.  Want more of that ’10 Napa Merlot I popped.  But I near midnight.  Coffee made, and I don’t want to endanger the morning writing.  See?  Now I’m starting to think like a writer, and publisher.  Writers need finish their books, and publishers need them vend.

Ready for bed.  And I should go.  Rubbing my face, listening to a song with the one earpiece I have in, left.  The house is different at night.  And odd, unfamiliar place.  What… what is this place?  I’m a dad in it with my babies and wife upstairs asleep.  I’m down here working …