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I’m bogged down on page 124 of 300 pages of what was meant to be a quick copy edit and has morphed into a bigger than the Black Lagoon rewrite. Why? How many novels do I have to write before I can call it quits after, ooo I dunno, eight drafts? Instead of eight hundred?…

Especially when you zap your inbox changing email providers, your gut packs it in due to stress, your kids go into lockdown mode, your from-hell oven gives the Thanksgiving turkey an afro, your home-business and sole source of income stalls due to a packaging snafu that leaves you covered in powdered dextrose, there’s no hot…