I have come to treasure the two-hour train ride to my parents’ house. It’s a direct train from Hoboken to the Jersey Shore; since it originates in Hoboken, where I live, I can simply walk five blocks, buy a ticket, put my luggage overhead and then settle in with a good book or my journal. The last few times, I’ve taken the laptop and worked on my book. There’s nothing like a nice window seat, plenty of room to spread out (if the train isn’t crowded), and the chance to concentrate on nothing but my art.

Today I wrote and wrote as town after town went by my window. I streamlined some things. Got in a groove.

My Christmas present to me.