How did it get to be September already? The summer roared by, a blur of hot days and windy afternoons, and here we are. Trees turning yellow, cold rain, the first murmurings of frost to be found in heavy morning dew.
The approach of fall means a few more weeks of allergies (there’s still the leaves to contend with) and then the relative peace of the winter.
Just a week and a half to go until I’m up in the mountains, tucked into my writing. I’ve been reading a collection of Iain M. Banks’ short fiction on the bus, working to set the mood. So to speak. There are some astonishingly good stories (‘Descendant’ is devastatingly good; ‘A Gift from the Culture’ is a perfect piece of world and character development). I think I’ll have to make a point of reading his Culture novels at some point — the writing is just too good not to explore.
Meanwhile? Still working on a short story, getting ready to shift gears and go back to the novel. Taking a few weeks off from it has helped…something about needing the time and the space for the ideas and the characters to percolate, I think. It feels like they’re all waiting for me, planning to meet me at the Banff Centre. Soon.