Oh, no.  This won’t do.  Anyone reading this blog is going to get the idea – no, the fantasy – that the writing life is really glamorous.  Like: become a writer and you can live in Tuscany!  I don’t THINK so. 

Maybe it’s because I haven’t written as many books as Michael and Katherine (has anyone?) but I don’t get to live in Italy.  I live in Orange County, California.  Oh, yeah, everyone’s heard about “The OC.”  Only, I don’t live in that part of the county – you know, near the ocean where the beautiful people live.  I live inland, where the Targets sprout like dandelions.  There are four Targets within ten minutes of my house.  Three of them are Super Targets.  I never, ever run out of paper towels.

Okay, I do sometimes. 

But the point is (hey, wait – do I have to have a point in a blog?  Oh, what the heck –) that you can write anywhere.  It’s the ultimate flexible job.  But the writing life doesn’t mean you get a free pass to live where ever you want – unless you’re married to Michael or Katherine.  And they’re already taken.

How do you say “paper towels” in Italian, anyway?