I'm working on the book, literally, every second I can carve out of my waking hours. It's funny, because if anything else consumed this much of my time I'd be miserable, but this doesn't feel like work. Even with a lack of sleep. It's funny, the conversations I'm having with my family.
Me: "Remember when Rachel was a baby and blew a raspberry into Dad's boss' face?"
Me: "I think I'm going to put that in the book somewhere. Do you think she'd mind?"
Mom: "Probably not. Does that fit with the theme?"
Me: "Um, not yet. But it will."
Mom: "Oh. Well. Ok. How much sleep did you get last night?"
Me: "About four hours."
But on the flip side, things have slowed down around here. The emails. The tv. The dishes. The cleaning of the house. It's oddly quiet, just a new pillow and baby potato vine. Thanks for bearing with me.