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.

I think I could sense the relief from here.

No doubt. I'm just amazed I had enough presence of mind and self-control to jump for joy and dance up and down the hall quietly, since Annabel is asleep.

Is she a light sleeper? For all that I used to get murderous toard a fly on the window when Joanna was asleep, she actually slept very deeply, once she got there.

I'm still astonished by the enormous carton of manuscript boxes. It's just - damn. A bit humbling. All that work...

Is she a light sleeper?

Not especially, but unfamiliar loud noises tend to startle her. She woke from a nice nap this afternoon when the repairman fixing our door used a power tool in the next room, for example.