I finished the extra chapter I realized I had to write. My timing is all wrong. I should be working on Christmas now instead of trying to squeeze it in. We keep on making choices, don't we? I try to plan and budget each day, to get everything done, but the one thing I can't budget is my energy. After a while I run dry. Well, no one wants to hear all that. The good news is that I've finished, sort of. I've already discussed sort of, so I won't go into that again. Anyway, I have to read it now - that is, tomorrow - and see what I've said. Not just the chapter but the whole book.

I've always said it takes much longer not to write something than to write it.

And then the marketing, oh, that's where the time comes in, trying to find the audience. I guess it will be easier with electronic publishing. I'm the one who has to learn. Ah, well, tomorrow is another day. And so is Monday.

This is a ridiculous blog, so I'll stop.

Yesterday morning I referred to P.D. James and at the end of the day I read her obituary; she was dead at 94. I met her a while back. As you know, I have written a book about women's diaries ("Reading Between the Lines: The Diaries of Women"). I was still living up north (Muskoka) when her autobiography was published ("Time to be in Earnest"). She wrote it in the form of a diary, taking a calendar year, dating from her birth date, as I remember, and going through day by day, recalling what was memorable about each day: this day ten years ago, this day last year, and so on, thus filling in the important events in her life of historic or emotional significance. Nice format. I loved it and decided I would send her my book about diaries. Then I received a pitch for a trip on the QE2, one -way: a flight to London, and a sail back across the Atlantic to New York. P.D. James was the headliner, giving a talk, participating in a seminar, being available for autographs, etc. I had always wanted to go on the QE2 and this was opportune. I signed on. Her trip (about her 11th gig) was sponsored this time by Levenger's, an online catalogue for readers and writers that I had recently discovered. (Since then it has gone into retail stores, first in Daytona, Fla. then elsewhere, including one in Boston, where I finally visited once or twice when I went to see my daughter.)

Levenger's was very generous with its customers. I got a good deal on the passage; they gave me several hundred dollars' worth of salon treatments and sent me about $500 worth of goodies from their inventory, including a wallet, a passport holder and a couple of travel journals. Plus they had a cocktail party for the star, for the Levenger fans only, and, of course, sponsored her appearances. She also appeared on the upper deck every morning to walk, as I did. So I spoke to her there, after I had written her a note explaining my mission: to have her sign my copy of her autobiography and to give her my book on women's diaries. She did and I did, and I still have her book, of course.

She was a gracious lady, a cool head, and an excellent writer. And I'm a groupie. And I honour her life and her career.