I love to write and edit, even on holidays.

If I don't get some time to myself staring at the draft text on the screen, or out writing an original chapter or two, I feel frustrated all day. Rebecca learned long ago that if I can't have writing time in the morning, I am not capable of being sociable at any other part of the day.

When conversing with friends, playing games with the family, even eating a big turkey dinner, an alarm clock is going off in my head. "You should be writing! You should be writing!" It's like the pull of gravity, drawing me back to the novel.

Some authors, Rebecca among them, like to "have written." They are excellent writers and produce wonderful novels and stories, but they see it as genuine work. For me, there's no greater joy than to be telling stories, making up amazing tales, spending time with the characters in my head (yes, I like my family, too . . . but they rarely have such fun adventures). I like to say "I lie for a living."

Does it mean I'm a workaholic if I truly love my work? If given the chance, I'd gladly slip away from the holiday football games and sneak into the office to tweak a chapter or two.

So, it's Thanksgiving. The turkey and pumpkin pies are in the oven. I've got a few hours before the family get-together. Today I'll be enjoying myself and giving sincere thanks for my blessings . . . but only if I manage to get up to chapter 70 in SANDWORMS.

--KJA

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