Lack of Prescience

Today I thought about autumn. I rememebered October in Milwaukee, where I went to college. Nights walking home from the musty Johnston Hall basement, through the crisp air made clean by the fewer cars. Patches of snow, maybe, or the promise of snow, and huddled in to a coat, or, if it was a fun night (which it usually was), wide open to the wind and flushed with excitement.

There was something innocent, or naive, or fresh about autumn. It was the cusp of winter, the end of summer. It was the start of the school year, the return to all the old haunts. It was all the memories resurrected after the long vacation.

It doesn't happen anymore, and not just because I live in a place with no distinct seasons. It doesn't happen anymore because there isn't a summer vacation, or a regular, life-changing experience of leaving a freshman and coming back a sophomore.

Promises, promises

Months have gone by, and the Web site hasn't been updated. Pour quoi, you may ask? Two awesome reasons.

One: 100,000 words in 60 days of writing. That represents the rough draft of a new book we're working on.

Two: Major revisions to the story referenced on the site. Major. Akin to a rewrite, as we explore the roles of a coupla characters and heighten the climax. Excitement precedes joy and rapture, and excitement is now.

Oh, and there's this stupid piece of Internet change. If boredom hadn't reared its ugly head, a necessary distraction mayhaps, then this wouldn't be written. It says something about my state that resurrection of this blog has occurred.