My first day back at the Grizfork — back to daily work on the new novel. The light from the woodstove flashes on bookshelves and sleeping cats. For some reason I woke up this morning thinking of the chapter of the cutting of the tree. Which won’t mean anything to you until you have a chance to read the book, which won’t happen till I finish the book. But it’s not a happy chapter, at any rate.

A strange place to begin my first day back. Maybe it’s this cold that’s torn my throat to shreds, or the exhaustion of driving across the country; but I awoke thinking about that tree and that chainsaw. Sitting at this old wooden table with the sound of the fire crackling, with deer and grouse stalking past the window, I just killed off two of my characters before finishing my second cup of coffee.

Damn good coffee, though, so I’ll keep writing.