I have a great desk. Bacon bought it for me years ago on impulse. When I saw it in the store, I shook all over and tears came to my eyes. I never asked him to buy it. He just did. I should have taken a better picture. I’ll do that another time.
This morning I sat down to work, and everything was exactly right. I loved the way my laptop looked next to the manuscript pages marked up in pink ink. It was a picture for a writer. I had only three pages left to finish the section.
Actually writing the pages wasn’t nearly as glamorous as the picture of me writing the pages. I struggled all day. Doing laundry and scrubbing toilets was more gratifying. I have new pages for tomorrow, on the pretty desk, next to the nice laptop, marked in pink ink. I hope the notion of writing doesn’t get in the way of actually doing it.