My darling little sister, who is reading my next book in MS form, just sent me a lovely e-mail telling me she got tingles from reading the opening sentences, and voila, my day is better. Thanks, love.

Also, I have remembered that work =/= writing all the time, and am reading a second-hand well-used copy of Mircea Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane. A page in and boom, the highlighter is out, and the sticky bookmarks, my notebook is revving up, and my brain is moving.

I still have to leave in forty minutes, though.