The house is quiet.
The dog is asleep on the floor near my desk.
The cats are lurking in the bedroom.
The dishwasher swishes and the washing machine hums.
It's time to get writing.
I've discovered that my internal clock is now tuned to the late evening hours. I shuffle to the computer in the late morning and early afternoon, checking email and generally making sure that the world hasn't blown up around me, but the words are stuck in a brain that isn't ready to churn. Yet, when the sun sets and the house grows quiet, all the words come rushing back, pouring from my mind, down my arms, and out the tips of my fingers. For some strange reason, these stories for the new series only want to be written at night.
I'm nearing the last few chapters of the short story that I am working on. I am hopeful that I can get it done by Friday and then I can use the weekend to map out the bulk of the plot for the second Tattoo Artist book. Last week did not turn out how I hoped, but I'm sticking to my guns this week. Thursday may prove to be the only day that I can't sit down at my computer.
In the meantime, I'm heading back into Low Town and Gage's problems. We're leaving his black market connection and we're looking for some information. Wish us luck.