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The more things change...

Change is not so much what we make as it is what happens to us unawares. Not everything that changes is progress but it is inevitable that everything changes. The seasons flow on, all too quickly. We tighten our life-vests, and try to steer clear of the rocks. Along our way down the river, we are grateful for every resting place. Here's ours. Above, as it was in our first August here in 2016, and below, as it is now. We still miss the old cherry tree in the foreground of the first photo. It died the year after we moved here. We've carved a garden out of the hill and planted blueberries on the slope above. One thing hasn't changed. We're still here. It's still home. We'll hold to that reality as long as we can.

To start...

Starting the summer as I did the last one, stalking a new tale. Oh, I do love the beginning of a hunt. Once a manuscript goes off to Publisher, it becomes a job of work. I already know everything that is going to happen. The book is a known world at that point. I'm plowing ground already broken.

A new story is scary and unknown. It might even prove to be unknowable and untellable. The adventure is in finding out if there can be words to write it.