We drove back from New Orleans yesterday, trying to beat the storm which was supposed to smite Pork Smith, only it didn't. But it's just as well, b/c now we can hole up and write away. I'm gnawing away at revisions (I have finally decided how to fix a couple of novels) and Herr Doctor Delagar is working on his new novel. Outside, the sky is low and white; inside, the house, which has zero insulation, is filled with huddled, well-wrapped writers, burrowed dogs, and the scent of coffee and baking bread. Perfect writing weather.
I'm making bagels today; HDD is making French bread. Later, some nice beef vegetable soup.