Thursday morning. I've got walking pneumonia.

I came in to work because I have deadlines.

Tomorrow, we deliver the second training course. One course left to go.

This has been a funny assignment. I applied myself, and was good.

I thought I'd lost a step, but I haven't. I was just out of practice.

Not that that means anything to anyone else. But it does wonders for my confidence.

I rose to the challenge.

Last night, after supper, I went into my room, and sat at my computer, and was so tired I couldn't think

I went to bed at 6:30, slept hard for two hours, and woke up.

I worked for an hour and went back to bed. Slept the rest of the night.

The car started this morning and got me to work.

Brenda's daddy had a heart attack, retired from the paper mill, and died. Her mother lasted 20 more years watching television and sending money to Billy Graham and Benny Hinn. I still get mail to her from Billy Graham Ministries, or Billy Graham Crusade, or whatever he calls himself.

Is it his son?

Sons inherit the father's business. Bill worked in the gas station my father ran.

Dad died and my mother went on cruises.

At least Granny Brown didn't go on cruises.

I am getting ready for a writers conference. I am to give two talks. One on publishing as a business and one on self-publishing as a strategy. A way of life. A métier.

The novel is about conflict.

My novels are about that conflict, and how I resolve it.