Publisher's Synopsis
What you're about to read are samples of daily love letters to my wife Carole. See, I get up early, before sunrise, and I write to her while she is still sleeping. Then I leave the note on the kitchen counter for her to read over her coffee. She began referring to the notes as The Daily Stephen, like it was a tiny newspaper delivered from my brain. The notes kind of morphed on me. I often lose control of my fingers, and my morning love letter frequently ends up as a compilation of a love letter, a to-do list, or some whimsical observations about everything from God to earth worms. Making a long story short; I can't stop. I actually need to write this stuff every morning. If I don't I feel out of whack. Have you ever left for work in the morning and forgot to dab on some perfume or failed to strap on your watch? You feel weird all day long, like something is missing, and looking at your naked wrist ever twenty seconds doesn't make things any more pleasant - that kind of out of whack. But they are Love Letters nonetheless, and that's the truth. No matter what form they take in the final version, lying there on the kitchen counter next to her coffee cup.
