I've been scribbling again, at last. Feels good.
After several weeks - or perhaps months - of unsettling chaos, packing and unpacking houses, moving across oceans, enforced temporary spinsterhood, starting a new job, and most importantly being without files, laptop, manuscripts and even web bookmarks, I'm back in business.
First, in editing mode on a picture book text that will be coming out in time for Christmas. That may seem a long time away, but apparently it isn't in picturebookland, and there's been lots to do, mostly late at night.
Then I'm back to writer-as-commuter, sitting on the train and trying to imagine myself into 16th century Venice for a historical adventure for older readers (well, 13 - 16).
And I have to do a rewrite on a manuscript set in the Blitz, because it's just not working for me yet. Third person. Maybe a mistake. Voice isn't quite right. But you can't write in first person all the time. Surely.
But soon all my books will be unpacked, and then I'll want to read everything all over again, and then there'll be no time for scribbling.