I wrapped up the first draft of Murder Under the Cliffs a few days ago and passed it on to my editor-wife, who will pick out all (or most) of the errors and give it back one of these days. I thought when I finished it, it was a little disjointed, but I'll wait and see what she says about it. She says I'm commatose (too many commas). I hope she didn't mean comatose, but the past ten days I felt a little like that from all the heavy thinking and overuse of my limited brainpower. Not about the contents of that novel, but with Christmas and New Year being so close together, and throw in my wife's birthday, my ganddaughter's birthday, the great-grandson's birthday, and shopping for this and that present has lead to mental fatigue, if not dysphasia (the impairment of the power of speech, writing, or signs, etc.).
Dysphasia hasn't really got a foothold yet, but maybe a toehold, since I've noticed that my speechpower has diminished somewhat in the last week or two, that is, I don't seem to be able to get a word in edgewise about much of anything with all the talking going on. I'm going to have to put my foot down and demand that someone listen to me. Maybe I can corner my five-year-old great grandson and talk to him about a few things that're important to me, like the Battle of the Little Bighorn, the rise of Hitler and Stalin, and the love- life of Charlie Chaplin or Tiger Woods. On second thought, cross off Tiger because I don't know anything about golf. But, my great-grandson is probably too busy playing with his new Wii to give me the time of day.
Well, I see the New Year is off to a great start.