Sitting in a Carl’s Jr. alone, getting funny looks from the cashiers and cooks, and curious stares from the occasional fellow diners is what writing is all about.

I worked my shift at the day job. Drove to this place. Ordered and ate a quick dinner. Fired up the laptop. And now, drink Dr. Pepper,  and write words, and fix words, and caress words until my bladder and spirit can do it no more. Tonight.

And then I’ll start it all over again tomorrow

And when this book is done. I’ll start the next one.

Am I complaining? Nope. It’s my choice. And I love it.

I explain all this only for those who might believe the whimsical writers from the movies who play all day and whip out perfectly worded books, plays, and sound bites on the first draft.

It’s been said, and I paraphrase: The first draft is crap.

And so are the next 3 to 10 drafts. At least for me.

It’s a lonely business. And I think I would have it no other way.