My dear friend Bruce just wrote to say, “You sound like you’re giving up on the book. Don’t give up.” Omigod, no. If you have the impression that I’m giving up, it’s just that my mewling self-pity took over for a bit. I’m glad my stern editor read that particular section of the book, because I needed his critique, but there are other chapters nearer what he’s looking for – the “hot bits,” as he says, the juicy stuff, the harder, deeper stuff. What he was really saying was, don’t start here, start there. I need to plunge into the back story and lead readers to the liberating wonders of the Beatles rather than the reverse. So off I go.
Though the weather continues sublime, I know it’s fall, because the garden is shutting down and suddenly there’s so much