My characters continue to come to life. It’s really hilarious and kind of wonderful. Even people I didn’t particularly like are showing a warm, human side. I guess I am a big softy at heart. Ah well.

I start moving into the place in Jamaica Plain tomorrow: third floor of a three-decker, on the back side away from the street. Peace and quiet at long last. It’s a real writer’s garret… which is another way of saying “tiny-ass room.” But it’s mine. Mine all mine. Finally, at long last, I can stop. I’ve been living out of a bag since the first of June. It’s enough already.

September’s coming.