I stood in the rain today for a few glorious moments. Here in the Pacific Northwest, the end of a parched summer is a time for celebrating. Or so I think, and I suspect the yellowing lawns around here would agree. Today’s rain is only a prelude; we’ll still have some dry days. But this means cleaning out the gutters and mowing the lawn a few more times before winter. It means we’re about to embark on the long gray days I love, and everything is going to smell green.

Of course, the rain is cold and penetrating. If you don’t have a warm dry place to go to get out of it, your feelings are going to be different. Still, I love the rain. It’s part of why I live here. I tend to be a winter writer–something about the gray and the damp turns me inward and hikes my productivity like nobody’s business.

So, the story is calling today, and I think I might’ve found the point that was stopping me up. It just means I need to make some decisions. Some bleak humor would be good, too. Of course, any of the humor in my books is going to be bleak. It just works out that way. The only time I seem to genuinely write something happy is with occasional short stories.

Maybe it’s the rain.

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