Today's a perfect writing day in normally sunny Florida. Too often I'll be sitting on the back porch and get distracted by flowers that need trimming, compost that needs turning, anything to get me away from what I should be doing, making up people in my head.

Today though is dank and rainy as a cold front comes through, so short of crawling back into bed with a good book and pulling the covers up (my second--no, third-- favorite rainy day activity), it's a good writing day. I'm sitting under a darkened skylight as the drops ping off the roof and the occasional bit of thunder rolls through. The stereo still has my Thanksgiving line-up on the CD changer, a mixture of Ralph Vaughn Williams, Bach, Yo-Yo Ma and Mark Conner, and I'm making progress on the next book, working title of The Privateer. That's not going to be its final title. I think I'll work treasure in there somehow, but for now, it's good enough for saving files.

In a little bit though it will be mid-afternoon, which is when my brain goes all fuzzy and it becomes a good time to do mindless activity like the laundry. So I'll continue writing for as long as the synapses are firing, and then take a break from creating hot heroes and snappy heroines and slip into some other rainy day activity.

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