In the meantime, I don't know what to do with myself. I have the beginning glimmers of the sequel bouncing around in the basement of my brain, but I don't feel like going down there. It will happen when it's ready (or when my publisher demands it). I am working painting houses and fucking sick of it. I turn 62 at the end of August. Social Security here I come. Then, after we kick the festering pile of Orangutan poop out of the White House, I am heading to Ciudad Oaxaca, where I will write, take photos, learn Zapotec, and whatever the hell I want.
Come visit. I'm going to get a two bedroom apartment.
PS, also suffering through the loooong recovery from a torn meniscus.