It’s the kind of night where the magic comes back.
I write to you with the wind blowing in my house, carrying the sounds of an early fall night (by my reckoning). The winds are cool and wet after a gentle rain. I can let the outside in, anud that goes both for my house and myself.
It’s been a tough week, coming off vacation and dealing with a day job that’s a little like having a slow form of cancer. Going from what’s probably my lowest gear to the usual unoiled grind has been tiresome. My dog Rand also has gone back to his usual routine, getting me up in the middle of the night to pee. Every night. Last week I got to enjoy seven hours or more any time I wanted, bur even seven is a long time for me, especially uninterrupted. I’ve been on a swing.
Despite this, the writing couldn’t be better. Bemann, the next book, passed 500 pages this morning. I remember when I despaired at the idea of ever getting to 400, and that wasn’t so long ago! Now the end is in real sight, not a thought but a thing, with a shape and a measurable distance. I’m not adding so much anymore, just tying all the ends together into a braid which will twist tight in the conclusion. It’s bug, it’s got twists, and it’s definitely my best writing, even if it’s nowhere near as goofy as it’s been with, say, Redheads & Bubblegum. I still love that book. I also still love Beavis & Butthead, so you see my state of existence, don’t you?
Tell you what: I sure do.
