Mine First

Kettle Cove, Maine. Photo by my husband, John

I'm changing gears for two weeks now to visit six schools, and then I have a long pause with public speaking until March. Winter is a great time to write in Maine, because the weather encourages you to stay home, not to dash out to the store or the post office to solve every, tiniest issue as soon as it comes up. Instead little things are allowed to wait, to pile up like snow and be dealt with together. I plan better in the winter, turn inward, and that splintered energy of nicer days can be focused into something creative.

I've promised the revisions on Loonsong, my next novel, back to my editor at the end of this year, but in the time it will take for her to do her own work on it, I have the wide-open chance to begin something new in January. It'll be the first time in twelve years that I won't have an outstanding contract. That's a mix of scary and exciting. Scary because there are a million "what ifs" of uncertainty with that, but exciting because whatever I write next will be mine first. This book will truly begin with a blank page.

There's something powerful in knowing that for me. Something that makes my heart quicken. Something that makes me eager for that first day when I allow myself to start imagining where and who and what it will be.