Like an intoxicating drug, I have to be careful with the written word. The right characters and plot can suck me right in, and suddenly, hours have passed and my husband is home from work and wondering why I’m still in my PJ’s from the morning. I feel bad on those days—kind of. If the book isn’t finished, well…I’m sorry, honey, but I’m still not coming up for air. Then, I realize I also lost a day of working on one of my own novels. Dang it! Now I really do feel bad. It’s all about the priorities, people. 😉