Never the most linear of processes, for yours truly, but something is starting to rise, in the spectral ringing hangar of the Novel Department. Looks like the Spruce Goose but with more wings. Why is there a tail at either end? My friends, we can only wait and see. No smoking here, hardhat at all times, steel-toed brogues, lumpy demob suit, loose lips sinking ships...
When people ask Tom Waits where he's been 'til recently, he tells 'em "stuck in traffic". And, boy, do I ever know what he means. But then again it's all part of the pro-cess.
Pass me that caulking-gun, Eugene, I just spotted a nasty recess in the flank of our synopsis here...
