Every so often, I run across a picture of Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher. She’s sitting at her kitchen table in front of a typewriter. There’s a coffee cup to her left, a coffee pot to her right, and a sweater casually draped around her shoulders. She’s wearing make-up. She’s also wearing a satisfied smile—as if writing is a lark and she’s just sat down to dash off 5,000 words.
I too write at the kitchen table. On a laptop. I too have a coffee cup nearby. The Keurig is but steps away. But chances are, if I’m writing, there’s no sweater. There’s definitely no make-up. And there is absolutely no satisfied smile.
Since I write early in …
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