it takes a certain type of person

It takes a certain type of person to sleep in a sweatshirt rather than close the windows at night.

This is my favorite season, when I wake up and it's still dark (although I prefer to sleep long enough that it's not pitch dark, okay Boomer?) and I'm comfy under the 3-season quilt but can feel the nip in the air that makes me want to curl up and sleep a little while longer. When I get up and the cold floor and cold air invigorates without shivers, and an open window is okay because I know that it will get up into the 70's today and I'll be warm, so being chilled this morning is a nice change. When going to the gym is a pleasure rather than something to get out of the way before things heat up so much I don't want to move. When I know that late afternoon will require a sweater, and there's a slight tinge of decay and leafmould in the air.

And the leaves are beginning to change...

It takes a certain type of person to love autumn in New England. I'm one.


(and is it cider yet?

is it yet?

how about now?)

this must be a wednesday. it feels like a saturday.

Wow, all sorts of new people suddenly! Be welcome! Did I do/say something interesting in public? If so, please tell me so I can make note of it. *grin* Bar's thataway, hot tub's over there, and do mind the 'gators, they get grumpy on occasion.

EtA: Worthy of note: Stephen King has started a charitable organization called The Haven Fund to assist freelance writers and artists in medical need (similar to SFWA's Emergency Medical Fund). Something to keep an eye on, if you're a freelancer, and quite possibly a worthy cause to donate to, if you're so inclined that way... either way, check it out.

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non-spoilery typo of the day:

"He was wearing pants – leather job that must have cost a fortune to custom-make, unless he did the work himself – only as deference to her modesty, not because his sin needed the protection."

Well, it does work, in an Old testament sort of way....

Meanwhile, I realized while on the treadmill this morning (back to the gym, probably a bit too soon, alas) that I am in pre-new-book mode, aka The Magpie Mind. We all do this normally, but pre-book the act somehow sharpens, becomes more shiny. More, I become aware of the process, which normally is a quiet, ongoing thing. Every single thing I see, hear, taste, or smell (or otherwie experience) is being shoved into the scrap bag. When I start writing, the jumbled bits will come out and be pieced into the characters/actions/plot as needed.

Writers: The Original Recyclers. Or, as I often tell audiences: "I don't know where, I don't know when, and I don't know how, but at some point I will use all of you." They usually laugh nervously at that point. I have no idea why. *adjusts halo*


Speaking of which. Back to the book I go.