Not That I'm Done with the Book, But...
I think I just wrote the last scene in the last chapter.
I feel like a goose-feathered angel just walked over my grave, whistling.
That's my bird by the way; a Canadian Gander. A silly goose.
Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"
My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.