“The power of imagination makes us infinite.” – John Muir
The finger is infected. And I got the stitches pulled out today, which hurt almost worse then cutting myself in the first place. I’m wearing a band-aid and one of those gauze finger tubes, which is like having my hand flash itself back to the Eighties and those leg warmers—except, you know, not.
Still, I’m writing. Can’t stop the beat! Or having my characters get beat up! Heck, this one cut on my finger was a major event. If I got kidnapped, drugged, tied-up, chased, bitten, and shot at as much as my heroines, I’d find a hole to crawl into, poke forks at the enemy, and tell the hero to go jump off a cliff somewhere.
Back to the book. Have a merry good night!