pumpkins and turnips of the season
The end of October is always tricksy in my world–there are rituals to do and cemeteries to visit and plots to plan and execute. This year was no exception and it even rolled into the first few days of November with a pleasantly-busy weekend.
And then Monday came on the scene and…well, I slept in, for one thing. The weather has turned chilly here and I thought about spending the day in dirt therapy in the garden but balked at that because of the chill wind. Instead, I set my shoulder to the grindstone of my new book.
Wild Mountain Time: Advanced Appalachian Folk Magic is the working title but it’s not quite there yet, is it? I want something as quirky and catchy as “Staubs and Ditchwater”, I think.
Anyhow, it’s November and that is writing month on the internet–there’s even one for non-fiction. I’m writing every day with the goal of having a rough first draft finished by 1st December. Doesn’t seem impossible, especially after having two days of mostly writing–yesterday and today.
I wrote a chunk yesterday but spent most of the time arranging what went where and working out chapters and such. At this point there are 17 of those, though a few of them may get combined.
Writing! It seems such a luxury to have hours of daytime to write in. And with any luck, I’ll have a couple of hours tomorrow, too. All that writing–plus the brief excursions into research–give me a kind of word-drunk. I feel like I’m lost in my own little head.