Saturday, I leave town.

I am going to a hotel on the beach on what is predicted to be one of the coldest days of this winter, with strong winds that will chill me to the bone.

I am going gaze out my window at the ocean, turn up the heat, and sit down and write. And rewrite. And edit. And rewrite some more.

The deadline for final edits on Traveler is now weeks (gulp!) away and I’m determined to see this done this weekend.

Well, done-ish. I’m sure I’ll keep changing stuff right up to the very end, but if I should happen to trip on the way to the car on Monday and this book is my legacy, it shall be finished enough.

So let it be written.

So let it be done. Ish.