Book signing this morning was not a success--people don't come to a funky hardware store full of old, really old and good stuff expecting to buy a book. I made one sale, just as I was leaving, to a man who hung around all morning because his wife/partner/whatever was the sales clerk, general factotum in charge. I think he did it out of pity, since she'd already bought a copy. But she gave me lots of information on the house that first inspired Skeleton in a Dead Space--and some great ideas for the fourth book. Can you believe that--one book out and I'm already thinking about #4. The second is done, and I need to edit the third, which is complete in draft. So here I am thinking about the fourth book. Wow! What a change from two years ago.
My friend Sue and I intended to lunch at Carshon's deli today but it was closed. So we ate Mexican at Esperanza's--Sue had tortilla soup, which I should have had, but I had the enchilada platter--one chicken, one cheese, a taco and beans. Tonight I had an upscale dinner with Mary Volcansek--steak tartare but of course I sabotaged myself by eating chocolate mousse. I got to figure out this eating thing and get more disipline.
As if it would help my discipline, I came home and made "dirt pudding" for dinner tomorrow night--oreos, Cool Whip, powdered sugar, cream sheese, and milk--oh yeah, and a stick of butter. I tell myself I made it for Jacob, and I will only have a small bite.
Tomorrow is a cooking day. Haven't really been cooking in a long time, and I'm looking forward to it. But when I'm cooking, am I avoiding editing? Oh, that blasted Puritanical conscience.
