unplugged

I'm taking the month off from the Web.

It's a radical thing to do, but there it is. I've got a novel to write–one that is coming to find me at all sorts of crazy hours, one that is waiting on the edges of daily life for me to turn around and give it some attention.

And it's not just waiting–more and more, it's talking to me.  In dreams.  At the kitchen sink washing dishes.  Driving carpool.  It's almost like having flashes of memory, and the flashes definitely feel like magic, and the story is ...