There may be no greater writing pleasure than to read one’s near-finished book galleys, as I was doing last week.
Especially when you have a drink at your elbow …
… you find yourself losing awareness that you wrote the thing, and idly marveling to yourself in a whiskey-voiced accent turned slightly southern, Goddamn!—
—finally a writer who thinks exactly like I do! Come to think of it, I don’t disagree with a single word this guy’s saying, and what’s more, I like the way he talks!
—what else has this bastard wrote, I gotta get my hands on it—
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