There is a story I want to write, which I have disallowed myself until I tie up Fighting Smart, Malediction Song, The Pale Usher, Seven Moons Deep, A Well of Heroes: Two, The Spiral Case and The Hunt for Whitey. All of these titles are done and need editing or are nearly done.
But time slips away.
This past week my boss, Larry, asked me if I'd like to work only two days every second week. That is appealing but takes my annual income down around 8.5K.
But like a synergetic glimmer of hope I received donations large and small from four different readers, including Mescaline Franklin and Brian, the others specifying that they wished to remain anonymous.
So off I pushed into the dusk in search of a goal unpromised, and last night I was rewarded with a walk in the snow—the falling frost being my most reliable muse—a rare treat in the final days of winter on the shores of muddied Plenty. Baltimore got its only significant snowfall of the season last night, the night before I meant to write the blizzard battle I was too tired to tackle this past weekend.
Last night I saw the great egret bearded with snow on the muddy bank as I crossed the bridge with a snow-crusted beard of my own.
It's a fine day to wax superstitious.
Thank you for the push and the pull, all of you.