I didn't realize this was news? I've always heard that novelists and poets are supposed to peak in their fifties.
I've shoveled out my email inbox, eaten some applesauce, made coffee, and put some squash in the oven to bake with apple cider, cinnamon, and maple syrup. I love this time of year.
I guess we're to the "Open manuscript and stare mournfully" portion of the morning.
It's a beautiful cool day, and there are finally roofers out fixing the house across the street that tried to burn down earlier this summer.