This week is somewhat normal. I’m trying to get some worthwhile editing work on my crime novel, Forgive Us Our Trespasses, and write some short stories. Bills will be paid, errands run, dishes and clothes washed, and yardwork completed. Oh, yeah. Red Sox watched, for better or worse. I’ve never seen a more efficient segue …
Nightrider's Lament
"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
