TT: This is Terry, Louis!

I put my Louis Armstrong biography aside in order to get married, and yesterday I took it up again in earnest–a good thing, too, since I’m having lunch with my editor tomorrow and have promised to deliver the manuscript to Harcourt next February.
As usual, I’m floundering in a sea of distractions, many of which have to do with the stagehands’ strike that has shut down most of Broadway and…er…fouled up my schedule beyond recognition. Among other things, I spent a chunk of time talking to a producer about a strike-related TV appearance that never happened (though it could take place tonight–watch this space for details). I also saw an off-Broadway show in the evening and fielded a day-long series of phone calls from Smalltown, U.S.A., where my mother underwent cataract surgery in the morning (she’s fine, thanks).
In between all these events, I worked at getting myself back up to speed on Armstrong in the Thirties, and by bedtime I was ready to start piling up words again. Today I roll up my sleeves and resume work on the seventh chapter, in which Satchmo runs afoul of a Chicago gangster and heads for the hills.
More later, but I can already tell you that it’s awfully nice to be writing a book again.