Or it certainly feels like that.
I met the last of my writing deadlines Sunday evening.
I finally finished my month-long marathon through David Copperfield last night (just in time to add it to my June reading roundup).
“I found the water of life,” the adventurer said. A flask hung at his belt.
“It’s mine!” His aristocratic patron lunged for the flask, tore it off the belt. He downed the contents in two gulps. “Ugh. Tastes horrible!”
“I was going to say that the water of life is safe in my luggage,” said the adventurer, as his patron began to writhe and retch. “That was concentrated bug poison.”
See, sometimes I do come up with workable ideas while lying cross and awake and very tired in the wee hours of the morning.