Firefly and lightning bug is interchangeable in my part of Pennsylvania, which is 7 miles north of the Mason-Dixon line. Southernisms may well have crept in, but in our part of the world we don't draw attention to such things. Apparently back in Civil War days it was the In thing to do to tell whichever "recruiter" stopped by, "Oh, no, we're part of West Virginia, we're not joining the Pennyslvania units" or vice versa. "Go away and leave us alone" seems to be the unofficial motto.

Wow. Wow wow wow.

We've just found another very amazing box in this office.

All of my original manuscripts. ALL of them.

The Goldsmith and The Apprentice, my first book and its sequel, which was offered on (and turned down without consulting me first) by my first agent. It never did sell after that.

A Flying Circus, about two little aliens who want to go to law school, and a lesbian couple who learn how to use a kind of space travel called lightlag, and creatures called Camadrian Flyers.

Plainsong. Fire Queen. The Man in Room 909, which remains one of my alltime favourite of my own, and which was designed, really, as a screenplay (there is one), for Whoopie Goldberg, but I think she's too old for that particular role now.

Fire Queen. Still Life With Devils. And Then Put Out The Light. Eyes in the Fire.

They're all there, each in its own manuscript box.

I'm almost in tears. Good ones - just, awed. They're all there.

Wow.

Oh, Deb, that's wonderful!

I'm writing this directly in the box, not counting words, inspired by the place I'm sitting right now.

The air conditioner is chugging, my brother is snoring.

Horns are honking, and dogs are barking.

Sirens blare, while my keyboard clicks.

New York City is never silent. Here, I am safe from oppressive quiet. Here, I have constant reminders of the people around me. Here, I know by hearing that I am not alone in the world.

Given time, I might start to hate the noise, to crave silence. But for now, for today, the city cradles me with its comforting sounds, and calls to me (with the sound of a bus braking) - "David," it says, "live here in me!"

Hold on, city. I'll be here someday.

Wanna live in New York.

Hubby wants to find someplace where the population density is 10/square mile or less.

Yes, the theme from "Green Acres" should have been played at our wedding.

Deb! Treasure!

On a more mercenary note, can any of that be shopped now? On the coattails of The Child Ballads series, as it were? And did you mention a possible reissue of Plainsong? And what news of Still Life? Dammit, you should have people beating down your doors to publish whatever you've written.

What, me? Biased? Nah, I just know what I like.

Maybe they'd be beating down my doors if I was a more commercial writer.

Not, though. Such is life.

What a find, Deb!!! Thrilling.

Deb! How wonderful! (Though it does take some of the oomph out of what I'm about to post.)

Rejoice with me, and let us make merry, for that which was lost has been found!

On Monday I took an important section of Chapter 2 of Lucy to writers group. I got useful comments and marked up my copy of the pages heavily. As I was going home, I stopped by the QFC adjoining the Starbucks where we meet to get a loaf of bread for dinner. Today I could not find the pages and was sure I'd left them, along with a notebook containing any number of irreplaceable addresses, business cards, and notes, at QFC. I drove over and checked their lost and found. No luck. I was beating my breast with woe.

As I was about to settle down and try to edit the section from my memory of the Monday discussion, I paced around the house in frustration. As I walked by the bedside table, something under Dylan's current book and some magazines and catalogs caught my eye--my blue notebook, with the manuscript pages tucked neatly therein!

How it got on the bedside table I haven't a clue. Not a logical place at all. But my mourning has been turned into dancing.

Susan! Are you kidding? I think I could sense the relief from here.

Whoooeeeee, woman. Don't be losin' that stuff.