Behold my kitchen table. See it contains all I need to bully my vast behemoth of a novel into something rather more readable and good. To the right of screen, the notes, letters, timelines and character sheets upon which my beloved Ms Elise Jones has worn her editorial fingers to the bone. In the middle, the demonic contraption into which I spew my brain vomit laptop on which I write my immortal prose. To the far left the food and drink which shall sustain me on this month long stumble through the nadirs of my soul something to nibble on should I get peckish.
This is how the kitchen table is, this is how the kitchen table shall remain* until December 21st when I hope to meet my deadline with my sanity hanging by a sinew and my nerves in shreds flying colors and a jolly laugh.
Til then good friends, adieu.
*I may occasionally eat and replace the apple.
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