November is National Novel Writing Month.

Somehow the timing is impeccable. Late fall is when I usually seem to wind up taking stock, gathering in, hunkering down. Introspective time, images of the days of summer, of the past year go gathering up ghostlike and swirl around like the leaves coming down. Some blow away, and some, sodden with the fall drizzle, take on some mass and stay, mashed by boots and tires, layering down to the soil.

I have been reaching out, grasping at some of these ghosts – I do anyways, to see where the year’s been, how it fitted, what kind of layer it added to my life. Now, I hope some of these ghosts will stick around and make themselves at home in this year’s novel.

Reread what I wrote last year – didn’t ‘finish’ – and was delighted at how good it was, having set it aside 30 November last, expecting sheer gibberish when I picked it up last night. While nowhere near anything I’d publish, being a draft that needs heavy edits (as well as completion), I did find a good line or two, and found myself glad to run into the characters again, as friends I’d not seen in a while.

Also, left me wondering how the hell I’m going to pull that off again. I liked those guys, I want to find out more about them. The challenge this year is going to be in finding another crew I want to spend a month with, following them around, pen in hand, curiously watching and writing down what they do.