Back to choir, lit group, Oxfam. Go to a different gym. Spend time with friends. Catch up with editing. Write a story.” I thought for half a minute....“Maybe write my life story, Doug’s and mine. Perhaps no reader would believe it, but it would give some guys a hard-on and make a few women angry.”“Do it, Clarissa,” said Jen. “Not many of us can tell a story like yours, and none of us could write it as well as you would.”I told her not to do herself down. She had every bit as much literary skill. M., and then got our act together and prepared to hit the road.We drove east for fifty miles or so on Interstate 80/90 before stopping for gas and breakfast. Filling the giant gas tank on that monster vehicle was a demoralizing experience, and it seemed like a significant bite out of Tess' modest tournament winnings. "I have an idea," I told her. "When do you want to go up to Connecticut for your next tournament?" It's not for eleven more days, from today," she said. "It starts on the 14th. I'd. More

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