This week certainly started out productively, fiction-wise for me, but that soon got chomped up by a lot of busy-work at the day job. That's what makes today so lovely -- Drew and I got some work done on the yard (Lizzie had to work), and now that he's napping, I have some time to work on Sixteen Miles again.

I'm fine-tuning, since the book is essentially done, and I'm learning some fascinating things about my main characters. For instance, I learned that our man Gil is a bit of a shit, though he's got more backbone than I'd initially thought. Here's a snippet:

The man stood, his bony profile blending into the giant sycamores covered in a mix of kudzu and poison ivy behind him. Gil's breath stuck in his lungs, and his vision went gray.

Fuck, he thought, this is all my fault.

And then, just like the cool blanket of forest air that had dropped over him as soon as he stepped into this thicket of trees, Gil felt a calm sense of assurance fall onto him.

Compensate and adjust, he told himself. Roll with it, Anderson.

"What are the odds of this happening?" he muttered, forcing out the air lodged in his lungs, just as Bullitt began whimpering, and Ray wheezed for the first time in an hour.

"Welcome back," the thin half-man said in his tittering voice, and all movement, all sound, all air in the forest came to a complete stop.

Here we go, Gil thought with a grin. About freaking time.

Here's hoping Drew gets another hour or so in on today's nap...! Later.