This is the table that's next to my computer desk--as you can see I'm the messy-desk type of writer, who needs all her books and papers and tea mugs and ancient candle holders given to her by her daughter when her daughter was 7 and her file cards that she never uses--all within reach. I'm the kind of writer who hopes that's true that a messy desk equals a productive worker. The kind of person who believes in the pile system of filing.
Today I started a new section or part or whatever I'm calling it (I can't deal with chapters, even if what I'm writing are in fact chapters). Carl is going to Kroger's, where he buys cereal, plums, and cheese. He's not as depressed, I'm glad to say. But, of course, since this is a novel, troubling things will surface. Tomorrow, I'm going to Youngstown to do a reading, and Carl will be on his own for a couple of days. Stuck in Kroger's--what a fate. Not that I dislike Kroger's, but still, would you want to spend a couple of days there?