I am not writing anything right now. I am simply thinking. I feel so restless when I am not working on a novel. There is a strange churning in my gut right before I start a new book. It’s a mix of anticipation, like having sex with a stranger that you just met. It could be good. It could be dreadful. They could kill you, or they could be the love of your life. This moment could change your…

Slippers.