Well yesterday went down the toilet faster than a greased chicken. (Not that I'm suggesting that anyone try putting a greased chicken down a toilet - that was a compound metaphor)
I was all set to spend the quiet hours after the kids had gone to school really getting a handle on the prologue to "The Black Stone" when I got a call from my son Anthony. He'd totaled his car and it was on a wrecker on the way to the yard area of a local garage courtesy of Gardner's finest. Well I jumped in my car and picked my son up and then drove to the garage to pay the bail for the perpetrator (Anthony insists it was the car's fault) Then waited an hour and a half until a tow truck was available to take it to the junkyard. With the afternoon waning, we went to the junkyard and picked up a check for the car, signed over the title and the bill of sale. I returned home to find the younger kids home from school, friends in tow, creating chaos as usual. Not exactly the right ambience for writing a novel.
Today, I get to help my other son (I have five children) change the oxygen sensor in his car. My wife insists that auto repair in the driveway on a cold November day will be a bonding moment. I see it as more of a frostbite moment, but nobody asked me.
Oh well. Maybe Monday will go better. No wonder it takes me so long to complete a novel!

I'm still looking for a collaborator to help me develop my computer hacker character, so if literary fame interests you, contact me. Alternatively, if you are good at auto repair and impervious to the cold, contact me as well.