This morning my writing day began with a breakfast of organically-grown cherries and a small wedge of cappuccino cake, both from Whole Foods Market. I washed them down with a glass of last night's champagne, into which I had splashed a little pomegranate juice.
Oh, stop being shocked. I'm a 51-year-old romance writer. Surely my age and profession have earned me the right to have something more exciting than Cheerios and orange juice for breakfast.