The garage sale went well. The surgery comes up next week, and has been described as routine, though I have to take it under a general, which I hate . . . The Celebrex ain't workin' so much. There may be narcotics in my short-term future after all.

And in response to AzrofD, regarding TRAITOR and my style:

I don't think of myself as even HAVING a style.

I take every story as its own thing, and throw as much of my poor battered brain at each particular wall as I can make stick. In other words, I write balls-out for glory, and never think about whether something I'm putting down is "my style." I think about whether what I'm putting down is the STORY's style: if it suits the feel I'm trying to create.

This, I should add (to paraphrase Steve Stone) for all you Young Writers out there, is roughly how the great EB White recommended all writers should go about "their style." In his seminal book on elegant writing (which he co-authored with the legendary William Strunk), THE ELEMENTS OF STYLE, White recommended that a writer should aim for clarity above all else, and should never even THINK about His or Her Own Style, as your true style is an expression of your true self: it arises with no conscious thought on your part, because it is what you are.

Everything else is affectation.

" . . . brevity is the soul of wit, and tediousness its limbs and outward flourishes . . ."





Oh, and Jenn?

You're wrong. You don't want to seee her angry. At anyone.

Trust me on this.



And kiss the boyo for the LOCKE LAMORA aut'd edition, in case I can't deliver said kiss myself. I'm still hoping -- given good progress with the knee and moving into the new house -- that I and the Fabulous Robyn might be able to make it to the wedding . . .