The Novel

Since the first of the year, I've been chin-deep in writing, thanks in part to the shipment of index cards I received from my parents. These cards, something I took for granted in the states, are unavailable in Ukraine and Russia, and without any, I found myself unable to collect all the various scattered fragments from my novel and organize something like a polished draft (call it a mental block, or procrastination and fear of failure). Now I'm rolling, at the halfway point of my novel, I believe, and am even utilizing the colored cards on top of the standard white ones to differentiate between past and present story-lines.

Now if only my lap-top will hold up. I've been using Mozilla's latest browser because it says it includes anti-virus software (yes?) and I was unable to renew my old service from Ukraine. I don't know. Maybe I don't have any anti-virus software, and my computer, like a British sailor of old cast adrift without any limes, is now parched and weak, gums bleeding, completely lacking in Vitamin C. Blue screen, an inability to shut-down, sudden and unexplainable glitches -- I get it all, but am backing up everyday.