Writing is the rare work that can happen anywhere. Its late on the plane to Frankfurt. I took a sleeping pill and I’m waiting for its affects, and then it came.

A revelation about Marilyn in the next book. Shes sitting on a plane in the first class seat next to the window.

The man next to her sees her legs, crossed, and looks up to talk to her and-she owns him.

I love writing, but now the pill is working so I’m done blogging.