Up at six. Four and a half scoops of coffee, 8 mugs of water. Kids and wife off to school. Coffee takes a dash of milk--two percent--and a saccharine tablet (quarter grain) in the biggest mug not in the dishwasher. Take in a newspaper, the most recent Entertainment Weekly, then, it's settle to the desk.The desk contains no superfluous paper, no bills, no lists of unfinished business, no real estate files, no unread mail. There are books, research pages, an open journal, pen waiting. There's the computer humming, the chair fitting my back like a cupped palm. The words stir, then stand up, as if charged. They file and fall onto the page. My mind enters that trance state Faulkner talked about, the away place where words pass the blood brain barrier without consideration, where the sentences make magic, and no critic can be heard for miles. This could go for hours. The dog sleeps, the kitten you saved finds euphoria in your power cord, and the coffee machine announces it will no longer heat your second and third cups.
Meanwhile Addison (who once shunned Danny's infatuation) is now finding him necessary, a haven for her insecurities about her father. She's finally doing what you told her, but her mouth is still Ridgeville prison. Such recalcitrant characters.
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