I have sitting in front of me a full draft of the chapter: 45 pages on two poems by Baudelaire.
It's not where I'd like it to be, but I realize it never will be. Because he is Baudelaire, and I am a Virgo. But that's that. I will give it one, max two, more edits and send it off tomorrow.
Once I decided that I had no alternative but to work on it, it suddenly became perversely easy. I hung out with a friend -- but at a cafe, she reading and I writing. I took breaks, but I was always eager to get back.
Your notes kept me on task in a way nothing quite has before. Thank you, dear readers.
Next post: Three askings I did manage to sneak in these past days...
But first, I think I'm going to go roast a chicken.
