Today I’m groaning, body aching, having tried to snatch a few hours sleep wedged between two chairs facing each other over a small wooden table. A bizarre amalgam of hard and soft surfaces over which I tossed and turned in the hospital waiting area, having eventually been evicted from my solitary cell. Must have caught some three hours all told, composed in fifteen minute intervals as I would awake to shift and rearrange and sink once more into tenuous slumber.
The one thing about hospitals in Miami is that as soon as you step out of their chemical halls you’re bathed and shocked by riotous sunlight. So after a three hour nap at home we’re going to the park to run and toss a frisbee around, make the most of the remains of the day.
Then it’s back to this here desk to pound out the future of March. I’m still in the throes of editing Grind Show, so how can I write the second book? I think I’m going to write a throw away novel instead. I’ve got an idea for something about a fallen angel that goes into hiding in a ghetto in NJ, only to discover the town is under the iron thumb of Baba Yaga who’s dealing a magical dope that steals people’s hearts.
Anyways. Life might soon slip back into its normal routines and rhythms.
(To those people whose blog’s I’ve been neglecting: I plan to come round sometime soon and catch up with you guys.)