I’ve had a great evening of writing — and it’s only 9:30. I think I’m going to call it a night, but there’s plenty of time for me to get one of those gotta-write-it-down moments between now and bedtime.

The book is, I’m realizing, awfully expository. I’ve spent way too many pages explaining things I saw or heard or felt in Africa, and not enough pages letting my characters just interact with each other. I don’t know whether I’ll actually be able to turn the manuscript into something marketable or not. But now isn’t the time to worry about that. I’m having fun, and I’m catching up to the required pace, and I’m going back to Kenya, vicariously, through my main character. What’s bad about that?