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.