I’m at about 73,000 words on WONDER GONE MISSING–my desert novel of wonder, grief, and cults–and somewhere, oh somewhere ahead, is the ending. It’s like those mirages you see on the highway in the summer heat: The closer I get, the farther away it seems. The thing is: I WANT this ending. I’m craving it.…

I wanted to read and couldn’t. I picked up three different books today, read a few pages, and then tossed them aside grumble-y. I can’t concentrate when I’m worried. And I’m worried. So I ran some errands, exercised, and then picked up my original book and … yup, put it aside. I hate it when…