I was out of town this past weekend, so I’m still a little crosseyed and discombobulated. I suspect I have reached the age of creaky joints and My Bed Is The Best Bed Because It Is Mine. I’m a homebody anyway, this is my introvert’s refuge.
I’ve reached 30k on the second Steelflower book. Things are beginning to heat up. I need to get Kaia’s crew over the harpy-laden Pass and into the highlands of Redfist’s homeland. Lots of snow, and cold, and frozen noses. I suspect winter really needs to get underway before I can fall into writing that, though. There’s a new book burgeoning in my head, but I don’t want to write it. There are books and books, and sometimes, maybe it’s best for one to remain unwritten.
I never used to think that, but then, I never used to think I’d end up living this long either. It’s funny how life takes hold of one.
So. Time to get out and run, then come home and write both the book I want to, and the book I have to. Afterwards, there will be another book, and another. Writers can die with their boots on, as Tess Gerritsen said. Which reminds me of Val Kilmer in Tombstone.
Over and out.