Writing Friday

Instead of risking life, limb or wallet at the malls, I spent Friday writing at Orchard Valley Coffee in historic downtown Campbell. I would welcome a cafe like that close to home. It has late hours, great coffee, free wireless internet and a large open room containing artwork, couches and a fireplace. If only they played Bjork a little softer, it would be perfect.

Cliff finally died, off-page and around the 45,000-word mark. He grew from a cameo into a major character, but inevitably, his words were numbered. The real Cliff conditioned his inclusion in any novel end with the death of his literary incarnation. He wanted at least one of him to fall off a cliff and his wish was easily granted. The last few chapters of my story were already taking place in mountainous regions, so an accidental slip or intentional push was no trouble.

It's Saturday. I'm posting. It's early. I'm up. I'm close to finishing something. There are so many things wrong with this picture.