First breath of autumn

It was 60 degrees when I woke up this morning, the first time the temperatures in Tucson have dropped that low since last May.  Ahhh!  I don’t care if it gets up to 90 today, autumn is coming.  We’re on the cusp.

I’ve been semi-retired–not from writing, of course–since last November, and although it wasn’t my idea, I have to say I like these 5-day weekends. And now that the weather is moderating, I’m looking forward to spending more time outside.  There’s not much yard space in my 10-per-acre lot, but I’ve acquired a new outdoor hobby:  walking the neighborhood picking up trash.  Really.  I take a grocery bag, wear a rubber glove, and get a bit of bending and stretching to go with my heel-strikes.  (Woman over 30, pay attention–you need load-bearing exercise and heel-strikes to preserve your bones.)  I read somewhere that neighborhoods that are well-kept and show pride of place have less trouble with litter, so I think of it as creating a milieu that breeds a better milieu, but that’s not why I do it.  Truth be known, I’m something of a compulsive personality.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  (My mother would laugh–she remembers my bedroom when I was growing up.  I was *not* a neat freak.)

So with this extra time on my hands, am I writing more books?  Tons of short stories?  Not really.  I have a stockpile I’m trying to sell, so I spend a lot of time editing existing works and sending out queries.  And waiting.  I hate waiting.  Waiting is not my strong suit.

But I have a new book idea germinating, an SF/Fantasy novel that has reminded me of the second most important question in writing fiction.  The first, of course, is:  What if…?  The second is:  Why?  Why do the characters do what they do?  Why does the action take place here and not there?  And why should the reader care?

Much to ponder.