I'm already tired of summer. Yesterday it was 113 with 28% humidity. It's a little like being braised.
I'm going away next month—to an old place. It would be like going home except my home is here now. I'm going into the woods with a laptop and no cell phone, no email. I'm going to the beach. I'm taking the new book and I'm going to work it out, make it fit into the shapes it needs to take.
The old books are good. I would say that books get easier every time, but they don't. I see more clearly my missteps in the first book now. I keep streamlining that manuscript and it keeps getting thinner and thinner. More desperate. I think this is good for it. The second manuscript is fine, done, no worries. I'm confident about it. I know I've done all I can do there.