the gods seem willing. sun's in the sky. old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.

Hurt something in the palm of my hand today on the first route I tried; taped hell out of it and kept climbing, but eventually had to quit. I did this same thing to myself on the other hand about three years ago; nothing to do but wait it out and try to climb a little down in the grades. Cod dammit; just when I was staring to feel like I was really moving off my plateau.

Oh well. Patience is a virtue. And it's not about the goal; it's about the journey.

Like novels.

Autumn is coming to New England. Yes, yes, technically we have a month of summer left, and the real dog days haven't settled in to cook us yet (we had one nasty hot spell, but there's usually another one long about any minute now), but the drought-stressed maples are starting to turn vermilion around the edges, and tonight, driving back from the gym, I got the year's first look at that wonderful New England autumn evening light--the lazy low-angle light that makes the whole world glow as if caught in amber.

Damn, I love it here.

Meanwhile, in addition to having a novel due and a CEM enroute, I just got the edit letter for A Reckoning of Men. casacorona has no love for the Reckoning part of the title, so from now until we come up with a better title, it will be known hereby as An Amphibrach of Men.

I guess I better eat me a salad (oh, The Discipline!) and get back to work.

These darn books don't write themselves, more IS the pity.