Booking It

When writing a book, there are days when, I swear, I should buy a canary. I’m convinced that I’m laboring in a deep, dark and dank hole in the ground, and that I could die at any moment from poisonous gas only a bird could detect . . . by keeling over and dying before I do.

But, today was not one of those days. Nope. The sun was shining and it felt like spring in my head.