Over the Thanksgiving vacation, many people traveled great distances to visit family and friends. They wined and dined and reminisced about old times.  But not me.  Nope. I traveled right up to my office (OK, after a little yummy dinner and a very small glass of Kendall Jackson chardonnay) to Revisionland.  In case you aren’t familiar with this place, it’s an alternate dimension where time does funky things.  The hours can drag mercilessly and my flattened bottom complains (“Just stand up for a minute, would you?”) or the minutes whiz by more quickly than is possible to comprehend (“What? I’ve worked on this transition sentence for two hours? How can that possibly be?”). It all depends on how the words flow — and how quiet the rest of the house is.  If you are a writer, you understand this strange place.  You’ve traveled here, too.