i had imagined that lucy lynch, my protagonist was a haunted one. he, not i., would have to make his solitary journey halfway across his own personal bridge. nothing but darkness and loss awaiting him on the other side. before finally turning back on the advice of a dead man, he and i were not exactly psychic twins, after all. but as it turned out we were not so different as i thought there can buy the time i finished writing that book, and then touring with that, not only was my gas tank empty, my suspension was shocked, my wheels were out of alignment, my satellite navigation system and operable. even the radio had crapped out. and that was just on the creative side. my mother had just died after a long illness, and both of my daughters were to be married within that year. only a fool would be in a novel under such conditions. on the other hand, since writing is a discipline, taking time off didn't seem like that great an idea either. riders are a lot like athletes. in that rhythm is paramount to our success or we are always trying to find our rhy