Here in hot damp Coney Island.
Work kind of ate my life--but this job ends at the end of the week. I am so glad. It was interesting, but not for forever. I have written almost nothing since starting it.
There is a lot of talk about how if you are a 'real writer' no obstacle will ever deter you, you will go to your desk with the determination of a spawning salmon, even if it means neglecting other things like air and food. I have failed in the last months to be this real a writer. I have missed it, but after 10 hours at work I needed sleep and food. Also, other family obligations did not stop. Still had phone calls, appointment, dishes, etc.
I am down to half hours now, in the home stretch. Been reading again. Had not even had much time for that. Read Hornblower canon again in the last two weeks, just for comfort and delight. Had forgotten how book Horatio differed from movie one, or from fanfic one. A person can love them all.
Also, for the first time read the half finished one incomplete at Foresters death. It was too short. There is a novel by someone else, completing it. I got that too, and read that. It was approved by Forester estate, but you know what? It was only ok. It did not feel right to me. We can do better. We did do better.