One thousand miles south of where I was just three weeks back, alone in a new town, a new house, a new bed. Thunder is booming loudly in the distance, storm cells floating over ocean and land. A strike nearby shudders the house. Out the window palm fronds wave in the wind. A half hour ago when the sun was bright and blinding they hung low and still. Soon the rain patters on the roof. It falls on the pool and further out on the pond. It falls with force, this terrific heavenly storm. I wonder what the weather is doing one thousand miles north?
A self-imposed quarantine is my current state of being. Some menacing bacteria or stress colitis caught up with me and has me laid up eating buttered toast. All part of the journey, I must remind myself. Despite this small setback I am pleased with the move. But like a pirate in the night, it has stolen my writing time and buried it in the sand. Big moves just take time. Now having experienced this move of not only myself, but my wife, our children, our cat, and all of the material excess we've accumulated over the last 6 years, I can tell you the move and all it's associated components have taken top priority for the last three months. Like packing, loading, and driving. Like new schools, new doctors, new schedules. Like selling our home, and finding a new home. And of course goodbyes to friends and colleagues, some of whom will be dearly missed.
The whole moving process was launched early last May. Now into August our resettlement is nearly final. With that, more free time will return. Already I'm starting to find some, finding that sinkhole in the sand where the pirate buried it last May. I'm digging it up, often at work before the sun has yet risen. That's not easy for me, but I'm inspired to get back to what calls me, realigning with it from an entirely new land. It's exhilarating and I trust it will bear fruit.
Two new tales will be launched soon, short stories written last winter and spring. One is called Jukebox Boxing Match, a very short tale about two men brawling in a bar. The other is called Bloodline, a longer piece about a home invasion, and about a man protecting his family. Both are action oriented stories that aim to thrill. My first novel, The Final Season, continues to be drafted underneath it all. I will release some of that content as well throughout the fall and into 2018.
Anyway, the evening storm has now passed and the sun has reemerged. I'm still in bed, the cat now snoring at my feet. But my oh my, lying here and writing this has made me feel remarkably better.
To my beloved readers, thank you wholeheartedly for your patience. It is often my readers that inspire me to write on.