No, I can't talk about anything else. I never DO anything else.

We wrote 11,000 words this weekend, about a tenth of the completed manuscript. We thought we were going to do closer to 4,000.

And the book still isn't finished. I mean, it's close (no, really this time), but we haven't typed "The End" yet.

When we're finally, finally done, I'm planning to spend an evening in the bath tub, followed by a couple hours in my robe and pj's, on the couch, indulging in Sherlock and ice water. Because this weekend, I have had ALL the caffeine.

I am so tired.

In case you were wondering.

Saying the equivalent of "Well, I don't blame victims, but it sure seems like they could do more to not get raped." is a guaranteed way to make me want to set you on fire with my MIND.