Thanks to everyone who wrote with condolences about the death of my grandmother. It's interesting because some writers can write when they're grieving, others can't. I have to. Writing isn't only my playground and passion, it's also my place of solace. Not of safety, definitely not that. But where I belong. It feels reassuring, the belonging.
So, I wrote today. I'm revising a picture book manuscript for one of my editors. It's humorous, tall-tale-ish, and relatively experimental, though I've worked on it for some time. I like it.
