Ugh.

It's too early to be up on the day that is, essentially, my equivalent of Sunday. But I dragged myself out of bed to get some laundry done before my morning squash game, then crawled back into bed to relax while the washer spun its cycles. Laying there, though, in the darkness, between dreams and wakefulness, I had a sudden terror that I had forgotten one of the many deadlines that make up my week.

Right. My column. Forgot to write it last night.

Crap.

So, drag myself back out of bed, climb up the stairs to my office. Write the damn thing. Send it off.

Wrote about National Novel Writing Month and, when I was done, with the web page still running in the background, figured it was as good as any a time to sign up again for this year.

The novel's called "Waiting for a Miracle." At least that's what it's called at the moment. I tend to have working titles, and then finished, proper titles. It takes me forever to title a book.

Come November, as I progress my way through the 50,000 words, I'll likely publish an excerpt now and then here in the blog. Unless I get struck with writer's blog. Then I'll likely just post long strings of profanities.