Saturday I awoke with a hangover fit for a rum brave and the very real fear that I had maybe half a dozen donuts, sitting in my stomach like cream filled stones.
After other things I had to do besides writing, I went to the library and booted up the laptop for an hour of pure fucking gold. Writing the first draft of a manuscript is a lot like mining.
The chapter–nay, the BOOK, is beginning to really work. And I think I’m doing better than ever before.
I drove forty minutes and two towns over to my friend and fellow card conspirator Paxson of Ashgarden’s castle. Our good pal Sakroka met us for Chinese, and the rest of the night was spent talking of cards, and deciding on some terribly fantastic things.
We decided, officially, to name ourselves French Toast, which dovetails right into…