We have a houseguest. Our friend Kate is in town from Providence for a local theater gig and is crashing with us for the week. Consequently, we did nothing but housework over the weekend. Our apartment is cleaner than it’s been in months, and I’m feeling guilty now because I haven’t touched my novel in three days.
I suppose the fact that three days away feels like forever is a good sign, though. It means I’ve developed of a routine regular enough that I notice when it’s disrupted. And I’ve been making enough progress that I don’t actually dread facing the keyboard. I may not have figured out yet how I’m ultimately going to handle my psychotic killer with the pharmacological Gift, but at least I’m getting him and most of my other major characters along the road to where they need to go. A bunch of them have just walked into a dangerous situation in which a lot of blood is going to be spilled (my fist big fight scene — be afraid, be very afraid) and at least one of them is going to be severely injured (maimed, actually). Even the psychotic will be unhappy with this one. Which is good, as he’s been having too much fun lately anyway.