Oops . . . didn't post yesterday. I was complaining about how little writing I've gotten done the past couple of weeks . . . I think one reason is that it's always light. I get up at three and the sun is already up. Where is my precious darkness, my isolation?

(Have to admit that the work did go well the last time I was in Alaska. But I'd just finished a novel -- finished it in Costa Rica and had the last chapter printed out in Ketchikan -- and decided to spend six weeks writing a novella.